THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 


'MURDERER!"    I    SAID,   "MURDERER!1 


THE 

BLACK  SPANIEL 

And  Other  Stories 

BY 
ROBERT   HICHENS 

Author  of  "  The  Garden  of  Allah,"  "  The  Woman 
With  the  Fan,"  "Felix,"  etc. 

WITH  EIGHT  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

A.  FOKESTIEK 


NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
ROBERT    HICHENS 


This  edition  published  in  October, 


Presswork  by  The  University  Press,  Cambridge,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

FACE 

THE  BLACK  SPANIEL  .  i 

THE  MISSION  OF  MR.  EUSTACE  GREYNE       .  .     147 

DESERT  AIR  .  .  .  .  .231 

"  FIN  TIREUR"         .  <  .  .  .255 

HALIMA  AND  THE  SCORPIONS  .  .  .     269 

THE  DESERT  DRUM  .....    287 

THE  PRINCESS  AND  THE  JEWEL  DOCTOR       .  .    307 

THE  FIGURE  IN  THE  MIRAGE  .  .  .321 

SAFTI'S  SUMMER  DAY  ....    337 

SMAIN  ......    343 

THE  SPINSTER  .  .  .  .  .    351 

PANCRAZIA'S  HAIR    .  .  .  .  371 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


"Murderer!  "  I  said,  "Murderer!"      .         .       Frontispiece 


FACING 
PAGE 


She  and  her  Companions  were  obviously  Italians          .  4 

As  I  walked  back  I  thought  over  Vernon's  last  words  .  26 

As  he  vanished,  Deeming  appeared  at  the  hall -door      .  63 

"  That  dog  there,"  saidVernon;  "how  long  have  you 

had  him  ? "  .         .         .         .         .         -73 

While  I  was  there  Deeming  came  back  unexpectedly    .  131 

I  went  out  into  the  night  carrying  it  in  my  arms           .  145 


PART   I  — THE   DEATH 


IN  the  big  hall  of  the  Grand  Hotel  at  Rome 
I  introduced  Peter  Deeming  to  Vernon 
Kersteven. 

The  two  men  were  friends  of  mine,  and  I 
wanted  them  to  like  each  other;  and,  perhaps 
because  they  were  both  fond  of  me,  I  thought 
that  they  would  get  on  well  together,  and  that 
we  should  form  a  happy  and  a  lively  trio  at 
dinner.  Was  this  the  fancy  of  an  egoist?  I 
have  sometimes  wondered  since. 

At  the  time  I  speak  of  I  had  known  Deem- 
ing for  over  two  years,  having  met  him  first 
in  London  at  a  friend's  house.  Vernon  was 
a  comparatively  recent  acquaintance  whom  I 
had  encountered  when  I  was  travelling  in  Al- 
geria ;  but  already  in  my  heart  I  gave  him  the 
dearer  title,  for  I  had  come  to  like  him  greatly, 
and  I  knew  that  my  sympathy  was  returned. 

The  two  men  were  very  different — in  their 
appearance,  their  natures,  their  ways  of  life 
— but  differences  sometimes  seem  to  make  for 
pleasant  intercourse,  and  even  for  intimacy. 
We  often  love  ourselves ;  but  do  we  generally 
love  those  who  markedly  resemble  us? 

1 


T&E   BLiACK   SPANIEL 

Vernon  usually  spent  his  winters  in  Rome, 
where  he  had  a  delightful  house  on  the  Trinita 
dei  Monti.  Deeming  had  come  from  Eng- 
land to  take  a  long  holiday,  as  his  health  had 
partially  broken  down  from  overwork.  He 
was  a  very  successful  London  doctor,  devoted 
to  his  profession.  Vernon  was  a  rich  man, 
passionately  interested  in  the  arts  and  in  trav- 
el. How  well  I  remember  that  first  evening 
we  spent  together,  that — I  had  almost  written 
fatal  evening !  We  were  dining  in  the  restau- 
rant, and  directly  I  had  made  my  friends 
known  to  each  other  we  went  in  and  sat  down 
at  our  table,  which  was  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

Deeming  was  a  very  thin  man,  nearly  forty, 
clean  shaven,  with  iron-grey  thick  hair,  narrow 
clear-cut  features,  and  a  tremendously  deci- 
sive mouth  and  chin,  betokening  power  and 
resolution.  His  face  was  pale,  and  bore  traces 
of  his  recent  illness.  In  his  long,  rather  col- 
ourless grey  eyes,  penetrating  and  usually 
calm,  one  could  see  the  slightly  anxious  and 
irritable  expression  of  a  man  whose  nerves  had 
been,  and  still  were,  overwrought.  His  hands 
were  delicate,  with  thin  fingers  curving  back- 
ward perceptibly  at  the  tips.  He  leaned  for- 
ward as  he  sat  in  his  chair,  glancing  over  the 
crowd  of  English,  Americans,  and  foreigners 
who  were  busily  eating  and  talking  round  us. 

Vernon  was  tall  and  fair,  younger  than 
Deeming  by  some  five  or  six  years,  with  medi- 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL; 

tative,  almost  gentle,  and  very  kind  brown 
eyes,  a  sensitive,  though  not  handsome,  face, 
with  a  clear  boyish  colour  in  it,  a  voice  that  was 
generally  low  unless  he  got  much  interested 
in  the  subject  he  was  discussing,  and  an  ex- 
tremely fascinating  manner,  whose  fascina- 
tion sprang  from  his  great  courtesy,  combined 
with  a  perfectly  natural  self-possession,  as  of 
a  man  who  seldom  thought  about  himself,  and 
who  was  desirous  of  making  things  go  easily 
and  pleasantly  for  those  with  whom  he  was 
brought  into  contact. 

I  saw  Deeming  look  at  him  steadily,  rather 
as  a  doctor  looks  at  a  new  patient,  more  than 
once  as  we  drank  our  soup,  and  I  knew  that 
with  his  invariable  acuteness  he  was  taking 
stock  of  his  new  acquaintance.  Vernon,  on 
the  other  hand,  showed  at  first  no  special  in- 
terest in  Deeming,  did  not  regard  him  earnest- 
ly, but  was  gracefully  agreeable  to  him  as  he 
was  to  everyone.  He  was  far  more  what  is 
generally  called  a  man  of  the  world  than 
Deeming,  whose  devotion  to,  and  great  success 
in,  his  profession  had  kept  him  bound  to  the 
wheel  of  work  in  London,  and  had  prevented 
him  from  having  the  opportunity  of  knowing 
the  nations  and  mixing  perpetually  with  so- 
ciety which  Vernon  had  enjoyed. 

At  first  we  talked  quietly,  almost  languidly, 
of  Rome,  of  its  changes  and  its  tourists,  of  the 
influence  of  America  upon  its  society,  of  its 
climate,  of  the  differences  between  life  in 

3 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

England  and  life  abroad,  and  so  forth.  It 
was  not  till  the  middle  of  dinner  that  anything 
occurred  to  wake  us  up  into  great  animation. 
Then  a  stout,  dark,  and  very  vivacious  little 
lady,  with  a  commanding  air,  came  into  the 
restaurant  followed  by  two  men,  and  sat  down 
at  a  table  near  us.  She  and  her  companions 
were  obviously  Italians,  and  almost  directly 
she  screwed  up  her  eyes  at  Vernon  and  nodded 
to  him.  He  returned  her  salute  with  em- 
pressement. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  who  that  lady 
is? "  said  Deeming. 

"  Margherita  Terrascalchi,"  replied  Ver- 
non. 

"What  —  the  famous  authoress?"  I  said. 
"  The  writer  of  'Pieta'?" 

"  Yes." 

Deeming  stared  hard  at  the  little  lady,  who 
was  beginning  to  eat  with  extraordinary,  al- 
most comical,  gusto. 

"  I  have  read  that  book,"  he  said.  "  In  a 
translation." 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Ver- 
non. 

"  No  doubt  it  is  well  done  and  calculated  to 
move  the  ordinary  reader." 

"  Only  the  ordinary  reader? "  said  Vernon, 
with  a  slight  upward  movement  of  his  eye- 
brows. 

"  I  think  it  wrongheaded  and  sentimental," 
said  Deeming,  with  more  energy  than  he  had 


'SHE   AND    HER    COMPANIONS    WERE    OBVIOUSLY    ITALIANS.' 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

yet  shown.  "  She  appears  to  wish  to  elevate 
the  animals  above  humanity,  to  take  them  out 
of  their  proper  place." 

"  What  would  you  say  is  their  proper 
place? " 

4  They  are  in  the  world,  in  my  opinion,  to 
be  the  servants  of  humanity,  to  minister  to  our 
comfort,  our  pleasure,  our  necessities,  to  help 
to  increase  our  knowledge  and  satisfy  our  ap- 
petites, to  give  us  ease  and  to  gain  us  money. 
Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  No  doubt  many  scientists,  many  sports- 
men, and  most,  if  not  all,  butchers  do." 

I  laughed. 

"  But  you,  Vernon,"  I  said,  "  are  neither  sci- 
entist, sportsman,  nor  butcher,  and  Deeming 
asks  you  what  you  think." 

Vernon  was  looking  less  tranquil,  less  gentle 
than  usual  at  this  moment.  His  face  was  lit 
up  by  a  fire  I  had  never  seen  burning  in  his 
eyes  before. 

"  My  sympathies  march  with  Madame  Ter- 
rascalchi's,"  he  answered,  "  though  perhaps 
she  expresses  them  with  a  feminine  enthusiasm 
that  may  seem  to  some  almost  hysterical,  and 
is  carried  away  by  her  passion  of  pity  into  an 
excess  of  animosity  against  men  and  women, 
who  often  err  against  the  animal  world  more 
from  lack  of  imagination  than  from  any  defi- 
nite bias  towards  cruelty." 

'  The  question  is,  are  we  to  be  the  servants 
of  the  animals  or  they  to  be  our  servants? " 

5 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Deeming  said  rather  drily.  "  I  notice  that 
Madame  Terrascalchi  is  eating  something  that 
looks  remarkably  like  a  veal  cutlet  at  this  very 
moment." 

"  Oh,"  said  Vernon,  with  his  pleasant  smile. 
"  I  hold  no  brief  for  her.  I  believe  her,  in  fact, 
to  be  very — shall  I  say  human?  But  as  to 
what  you  were  saying.  Is  it  wholly  a  matter 
of  whether  we  are  to  be  masters  or  slaves? 
Cannot  we  and  the  animals — we  are  not,  of 
course,  discussing  dangerous  wild  beasts — be 
friends,  or,  let  us  say,  could  we  not  be  friends, 
good  and  close  friends,  they  serving  us  in  their 
way,  we  serving  them  in  ours?  " 

"  How  are  we  to  serve  the  animals?  "  asked 
Deeming,  still  drily. 

"  By  considering  them  far  more  than  we 
generally  do,  by  studying  them,  their  natures, 
habits,  desires,  likes  and  dislikes  far  more 
closely,  by  encouraging  their  affection  for  us, 
and  giving  them  more  of  ours." 

"  I  think  that  would  be  a  great  waste  of 
time." 

"  Deeming  is  a  terribly  busy  man,  Vernon," 
I  said. 

'  I  know  my  London  well  enough  to  know 
it,"  Vernon  remarked  politely.  "  Still,  I  think 
we  might  find  time  for  that;  even  that  we 
ought  to  find  time  for  it.  I  am  rather  what 
you  might  call  a  '  crank  '  on  the  subject  of  the 
animal  world." 

"  I  didn't  know  it,"  I  said. 
6 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am." 

The  almost  fierce  light  again  shone  in  his 
eyes. 

"  I  love  all  animals.  Ouida  speaks  of  their 
*  mysterious  lives,'  spent  side  by  side  with  ours, 
and  comparatively  little  noticed,  little  sympa- 
thised with  by  us.  I  know  that  many  animal- 
lovers  would  raise  a  cry  of  protest  against 
this.  '  Look,'  they  would  say,  '  how  dogs  are 
worshipped  and  petted,  how  horses  are  loved 
by  their  owners,  how  cats  are  stroked  and  fon- 
dled! '  and  so  forth.  Yes,  it  is  true.  Out  of 
the  great  world  of  the  animals,  we — those  of 
us  who  are  fond  of  animals — select  a  few  who, 
we  think,  can  minister  to  our  pleasure,  and  we 
give  them,  or  think  we  give  them,  a  good  time. 
But  these  pet  animals  who  enjoy  life  are  few 
in  number  compared  with  the  many  who  are 
made  to  suffer  by  man;  the  dogs  that  are  kept 
everlastingly  tied  up,  or  are  half -starved,  or 
are  perpetually  cuffed  and  kicked  and  beaten ; 
the  cats  that  are  abandoned  to  die  when  their 
thoughtless  owners  change  home;  the  horses 
that  are  overdriven,  tortured  by  tight  bearing- 
reins,  lashed  with  the  whip,  made  to  draw 
loads  that  are  too  heavy  for  them;  the  birds — 
let  me  include  them — that  are  forced  to  spend 
their  lives  in  tiny  cages  in  dark  places.  To 
any  real,  observant  lover  of  animals,  even  of 
the  so-called  pet  animals  —  excluding  the 
beasts  of  burden,  donkeys,  mules,  oxen,  and 
the  beasts  that  form  part  of  our  food  supply, 

7 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

and  the  dumb  creatures  that  are  given  over  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  the  sportsman :  the  hares 
that  are  coursed,  the  foxes  and  stags  and  deer 
that  are  hunted,  the  pigeons  that  are  let  out  of 
traps  (their  eyes  pierced  to  make  them  fly  in 
a  given  direction)  to  be  shot  and  are  often  left 
maimed  to  die,  the  sea-birds  that  the  Cockney 
*  wings  '  and  abandons  to  starve  and  rot,  float- 
ing helpless  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  the  pheas- 
ants that,  wounded  in  a  battue,  are  crushed 
one  on  the  top  of  the  other  into  bags  to  perish 
of  suffocation;  excluding  all  these — to  any 
real  and  observant  lover  of  animals  the  lack  of 
sympathy,  or  the  actual  cruelty  of  man,  is  a 
perpetual  source  of  disturbance,  of  anxiety, 
even  of  lively  distress  and  misery." 

I  was  quite  amazed  at  the  energy  with  which 
Vernon  had  spoken,  at  the  vigour  and  force 
of  his  manner.  He  paused  for  a  moment,  then 
he  added — 

"  My  love  of  animals  has  given  me  very 
many  horrible  moments  in  my  life,  moments 
in  which  I  confess  that  my  heart  has  been 
turned  to  bitterness  and  I  have  longed  to  make 
men  suffer  as  they  were  making  animals  suf- 
fer. Yes,  I  have  longed  to  see  the  cursed 
Cockney  sportsman  drifting  face  to  face  with 
a  lingering  death  upon  the  sea,  the  callous 
game-preserver  wounded  in  one  of  his  traps 
and  alone  in  the  darkness  of  night  in  the  for- 
est, the  careless  hunter  at  bay  with  hounds 
rushing  in  upon  him.  But  especially  have  I 

8 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

known  the  longing  to  turn  one  whom  I  have 
seen  being  cruel  to  a  pet  animal  into  that  ani- 
mal, and  to  be  his  master  for  a  little  while. 
You  know  some  hold  that  theory." 

'  What  theory?  "  said  Deeming. 

:<  That  what  we  do  is  eventually  done  to  us 
in  another  life ;  for  instance,  that  if  a  man  has 
been  brutal  to  an  animal,  at  death  his  soul 
passes  into  a  similar  animal,  which  endures 
the  fate  he  once  meted  out  when  he  was  a 


man." 


"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Deeming. 
"  You  surely  can't  believe  such  unscientific 
nonsense! " 

"  I  did  not  say  I  believed  it,  but  I  should 
not  be  sorry  to." 

He  sipped  his  champagne.  Then,  more 
lightly,  he  said — 

"  I  told  you  I  was  a  bit  of  a  crank.  I  am 
even  hand-in-glove  with  Arthur  Gernham." 

At  the  mention  of  this  name,  Deeming 
moved,  and  I  saw  his  eyes  flash. 

"  The  prominent  anti-vivisectionist? "  he 
said. 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  share  his  views?  " 

"  To  a  considerable  extent,  though  I  don't 
always  approve  of  what  he  writes  or  of  what 
he  says." 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  We  doctors,  you  know, 
ab — well,  we  don't  love  that  eager  gentleman. 
If  he  had  his  way  humanity  would  undoubt- 

9 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

edly  suffer  far  more  in  the  future  than  it  will. 
For  I  don't  think  his  sentimentalities  and  wild 
exaggerations  will  ever  gain  over  our  legisla- 
tors to  his  views." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  I  sometimes  wonder 
whether  anyone  has  the  right,  whether  anyone 
was  intended  by  the  Creator  to  have  the  right, 
to  avoid  suffering  at  the  cost  of  inflicting  it, 
even  to  save  life  by  causing  death.  However, 
the  vivisection  question  is  hardly  a  pleasant 
one  for  the  dinner- table,  eh !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  Deem- 
ing said — 

"  Of  course  you  never  shoot  or  hunt?  " 

"  Never." 

"  I  do,"  I  said.  "  But  I  am  not  such  a 
contemptible  hypocrite  as  to  deny  that  cru- 
elty, and  often  very  gross  cruelty,  enters  into 
sport." 

Deeming  slightly  smiled. 

"Do  you  keep  any  pets?"  said  Vernon  to 
him,  rather  sharply. 

"  Yes.  I  have  a  dog  at  home,  a  black  span- 
iel; and  you?" 

"  No.  For  years  I  have  kept  no  animals. 
I  shall  never  keep  one  again." 

"  That  surprises  me.  You  would  give  them 
a  remarkably  good  time,  I  feel  sure." 

"  I  have  a  reason." 

"May  I  ask  what  it  is?" 

"  Certainly.  I  once  had  a  dog  that  I — that 
I  cared  about.  She  was  out  with  me  one  day 

10 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

in  London  and  disappeared.  I  made  every 
possible  inquiry,  offered  a  reward,  went  to 
the  Dogs'  Home,  but  I  couldn't  find  her. 
Eventually,  through  an  odd  chain  of  circum- 
stances that  I  needn't  trouble  you  with,  I 
learnt  her  fate." 

1  What  was  it?  "I  asked. 

"She  had  been  picked  up  by  a  dog-stealer 
and  sold  to  the  proprietor  of  an  establishment 
called  '  Lilac  Hall,'  near  London." 

"  An  establishment? "  I  said,  struck  by  the 
tone  in  which  he  had  uttered  the  words. 

'  Where  a  large  number — stock,  I'll  say — 
of  animals  of  all  kinds,  horses,  cats,  rabbits, 
guinea-pigs,  dogs,  was  kept  on  hand  for  sci- 
entific purposes.  My  companion  and  friend 
died  under  the  knife  of  the  vivisector.  What 
do  you  think  of  the  food  here?  They've  got 
a  new  chef" 

"  I — I — oh,  it's  very  good,  I  think;  it's  ex- 
cellent." 

Deeming  seemed  startled  by  the  sudden 
change  of  topic,  and  when  we  went  into  the 
hall  to  smoke  he  tried  to  return  to  the  discus- 
sion. But  Vernon  did  not  rise  to  the  bait  he 
threw  out,  and  at  last  frankly  said — 

"  You'd  much  better  not  get  me  on  to  the 
subject  of  animals.  I  am  really  a  bore  when  I 
let  myself  loose,  as  I  did  at  dinner.  And  I 
am  quite  sure  you" — and  he  met  Deeming's 
eyes — "  don't  agree  with  my  views.  Are  you 
staying  long  in  Rome? " 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

:<  Till  I  feel  quite  set  up  again  and  ready 
for  work." 

'  Then  111  hope  you'll  come  and  see  me." 

He  gave  his  card  to  Deeming,  and  soon 
after  went  away. 

I  felt  sure  he  had  asked  Deeming  to  call  in 
order  to  please  me.  My  two  friends,  I  feared, 
had  not  taken  a  fancy  to  each  other.  One 
curious  thing  struck  me  as  I  watched  Vernon's 
tall  figure  going  out  through  the  doorway  to 
the  street.  It  was  this — that  I  knew  a  side  of 
Vernon's,  and  a  side  of  Deeming's  character 
that  had  been  hitherto  completely  concealed 
from  me.  Each  had  elicited  a  frankness  from 
the  other  that  I,  of  whom  they  were  fond,  had 
not  been  able  to  bring  forth. 

Their  two  enmities — so  I  thought  of  it — 
had  clashed  together  and  struck  out  sparks  of 
truth. 

By  the  way,  Vernon's  last  remark  to  me  in 
the  outer  hall  of  the  hotel,  whither  I  had  ac- 
companied him,  leaving  Deeming  in  the  win- 
ter-garden, was  this — 

"  I  shouldn't  care  to  be  Deeming's  black 
spaniel." 


II 


A  DAY  or  two  afterwards  Deeming  said  to  me, 
"I'm  going  to  call  on  your  friend  Vernon  this 
afternoon.  When  is  he  likely  to  be  in?  " 

"  He's  generally  at  home  between  six  and 
seven,"   I  said.     After  a  moment  I   added, 
'  You  want  to  find  him  then?  " 

'  Why — yes.  He's  a  very  agreeable  fellow. 
Did  you  think  I  disliked  him?  " 

"  Disliked  him — no,  hardly  that.  But, 
somehow,  I  scarcely  fancied  you  two  were 
quite  in  sympathy  the  other  night." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  that  animal- versus-human- 
being  discussion.  Now  it  is  just  because  of 
that  I  want  to  meet  him  again." 

'  To  win  him  over  to  your  views?  " 

"Well,  I  confess  that  I  should  like  to  get 
him  to  see  how  harmful  such  a  man  as  his 
friend  Gernham  is  or  may  become  to  the  world 
—of  men  understood.  He's  probably  got  all 
kinds  of  absurd  notions  as  to  how  vivisection 
is  carried  on.  I  should  like  to  have  a  quiet, 
reasonable  talk  with  him." 

"  Go  to-day,  then,  at  six.  You're  almost 
sure  to  find  him." 

"  I  will." 

13 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

And  Deeming  set  his  lips  together  with 
determination. 

I  was,  I  confess,  a  little  curious  as  to  the 
result  of  the  interview.  I  heard  something 
about  it  the  same  evening  from  Vernon,  who 
sent  round  a  note  asking  me  to  dine  with  him 
alone. 

"  Your  friend  Deeming  has  been  here,"  he 
said,  almost  directly  I  was  in  the  house. 

"  I  know.    Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time  ?  " 

"  He's  extremely  intelligent — got  a  great 
deal  of  character,  real  force.  That  ruthless 
mouth  and  chin  of  his  tell  the  truth." 

At  this  moment  the  servant  said  that  dinner 
was  ready.  We  continued  our  conversation  in 
the  dining-room,  which  was  hung  with  sacred 
pictures,  gentle-eyed  Madonnas — one  by  Lu- 
ini — Saints,  an  Agony  in  the  Garden  by  an 
unnamed  painter,  the  little  children  coming  to 
Christ,  the  Magi  offering  their  gifts,  watched 
by  calm-eyed  beasts  in  a  dim  stable. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     "  Deeming  is  very  deci- 


sive." 


:'  To  me  there's  something  very  strange  in 
the  thought  that  he  is  a  healer." 

"Why?" 

"Well — do  you  mind  my  speaking  frankly 
about  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit." 

"  I  shall  startle  you,  perhaps.  You  know 
one  reads  sometimes  in  the  papers  of  people 
who  are  afflicted  with  what  is  called  the  mania 

14 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

to  persecute.     There  was  a  trial  of  a  woman 
not  long  ago — a  Mrs.  Denby." 

"  I  know.    But " 

"  And  there  have  been  various  instances  in 
distant  Colonial  possessions  of  France  and 
Belgium — and,  perhaps,  of  other  countries — 
various  instances  of  men  placed  practically  in 
the  position  of  tyrants  who  have  indulged  in 
orgies  of  persecution  of  natives." 

"  But,  my  dear  Vernon,  you  surely  don't 
mean  that  you  think  Deeming  has  the  blood- 
lust  because  he  believes  good  can  come  of  vivi- 
section. Upon  my  word,  if  you  don't  take 
care,  I  shall  begin  to  think  you  really  are  a 
crank." 

"  It  isn't  that.  It  isn't  what  the  man  says. 
I  can  quite  understand  that  as  a  doctor  he 
wishes  by  every  means  to  advance  the  spread 
of  medical  knowledge.  No,  no;  it's  the  man 
himself.  Do  you  know  him  well?  " 

"  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  him  in  London. 
Not  a  great  deal,  because  he's  such  a  busy  man. 
But  I  have  often  been  with  him." 

"  Often  in  his  house?  " 

"  More  often  at  his  club,  and  in  my  own 
house  and  at  restaurants.  Being  a  bachelor, 
when  he  entertains  he  nearly  always  does  so 
at  Claridge's,  or  the  Savoy,  or  one  of  those 
places.  But,  of  course,  I  have  been  in  his 
house." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  his  dog,  that  black 
spaniel  he  spoke  of  ?  " 

15 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

"  No,  I  can't  remember  that  I  have." 

For  a  moment  Vernon  spoke  of  a  certain 
dish  that  had  just  been  brought  in,  a  special 
plat  for  which  his  cook  was  famous.  Then  he 
said — 

"  That  dog  I  spoke  of  the  other  night — the 
dog  I  lost — you  remember?  " 

'  Yes." 

"  She  was  a  black  spaniel." 

His  tone  in  saying  this  was  so  peculiar  that 
I  was  misled  and  exclaimed :  "But  you  told  us 
the  poor  beast  was  killed  in  that  house — in 
Lilac  Hall!" 

"  So  she  was." 

"  I  thought — really,  by  the  way  you  spoke, 
you  led  me  to  imagine  that  perhaps  you  fan- 
cied Deeming  had  got  possession  of  your 
dog." 

"  Oh,  dear  no!  Whisper  is  dead,  years  ago. 
I  seldom  speak  of  her." 

"  I  never  heard  you  mention  her  till  the 
other  night." 

"  The  other  night  I  showed  you  a  side  of 
me  that  you  had  never  suspected  the  existence 
of,  didn't  I?" 

'  You  did  indeed." 

"  Well,  having  broken  through  my  reserve, 
I  feel  that  I  don't  mind  being  frank  with 
you." 

His  eyes  began  to  shine  as  they  had  shone  in 
the  restaurant  when  he  spoke  of  man's  cruelty 
to  animals. 

16 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  My  dog  was  the  greatest  solace  in  my 
life,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not  a  sentimental  fool. 
There  is  nothing  either  sentimental  or  foolish 
in  loving  that  which,  with  a  whole  heart  and 
perfectly,  loves  you.  And  a  dog's  devotion 
really  is  one  of  the  most  perfect,  one  of  the 
most  touching,  and  one  of  the  most  complete 
sentiments  that  can  be  manifested  by  one  liv- 
ing creature  to  another.  Not  to  respond  to  it 
would  be  absolutely  devilish.  But  one  can't 
help  oneself  if  one  isn't  made  of  stone.  I 
won't  bore  you  with  a  long  account  of  Whis- 
per's devotion  and  fidelity.  Why  should  I? 
It's  enough  to  say  that  she  loved  me  as  much 
as  a  dog  can  love,  and  in  a  dog's  way,  with  ab- 
solute unselfishness,  with  entire  singlehearted- 
ness.  I  never  felt  lonely  when  she  was  with 
me,  scarcely  ever  even  dull.  When  I  had  been 
out  without  her,  and,  on  my  return,  she  met 
me  at  the  door,  almost  hysterically  eager  to 
show  her  rapture,  I — well,  I  was  glad  to  be 
alive,  and  felt  that  life  was  worth  while  so  long 
as  I  could  evoke  such  a  tempest  of  delight  in 
any  living  creature.  A  faithful  dog,  believe 
me,  is  the  best  bulwark  against  the  coming  of 
cynicism.  You  can't  be  a  cynic  when  a  dog's 
cold  nose  is  pushed  into  your  hand,  or  a  dog's 
paw  is  placed  gently  and  solemnly  upon  your 
knee.  When  I  lost  Whisper,  when  I  found 
out  what  had  been  her  fate,  I  felt  something 
that  was  more  than  grief  " — he  leaned  over  the 
table  and  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm — "  I  felt 

17 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

hatred,  burning  hatred,  against  those  who  had 
snared  and  murdered  her,  against  all  who  use 
animals  cruelly  for  the  purposes  of  men." 

His  face  was  transformed.  I  seemed  to  see 
before  me  a  man  whom  I  had  never  seen  be- 
fore. This  man,  I  felt,  could  be  not  only  gen- 
tle, but  vindictive,  and  would  be  quite  capable 
of  expressing  himself  not  only  in  words,  but 
also  through  actions. 

"  I  can  understand  your  bitterness,"  I  said. 
"  But  does  not  this  recalling  of  a  painful  event 
only  stir  up  recollections  that ?  " 

He  interrupted  me  almost  roughly. 

"  That  doesn't  matter  at  all.  I  want  to  tell 
you  now.  I  prefer  to." 

"  Go  on,  then,"  I  said. 

He  took  his  hand  from  my  arm,  and  con- 
tinued— 

"  The  fate  of  my  companion  altered  me.  It 
either  stirred  from  sleep,  or  actually  woke 
into  life,  a  fierceness  that  till  then  I  had  not 
known  existed,  or  could  exist,  in  me.  It  made 
me  understand  that,  in  certain  circumstances 
and  to  certain  people,  I  could  be  implacable, 
almost  ferocious;  that  I  could  deny  the  sole 
right  of  Providence — you  know  the  text :  why 
quote  it? — to  administer  that  gorgeous  justice 
we  name  vengeance;  that  I  could  stand  up 
and  exclaim,  '  I  will  repay,'  and  repay  with- 
out fear,  without  flinching,  and  even  to  the 
uttermost  farthing.  But  that  was  not  all  it 
did  to  me.  With  this  awakening,  or  this  cre- 

18 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

ation  of  fierceness  in  me,  there  came  a  deepen- 
ing of  pity,  of  tenderness  for  the  slaves  of 
man.  Yet  I  was  selfish,  and  I  have  remained 
selfish." 

"  How?  "  I  asked,  wondering. 

"  It  was,  and  is,  in  my  power  to  make  at 
least  some  animals  happy,  as  I  had  made  my 
dead  dog  happy.  I  could  not,  and  cannot, 
bring  myself  to  do  that.  I  feared  and  I  fear 
too  much  to  suffer  again  as  I  suffered  when  I 
lost  Whisper,  and  when  I  learnt  the  truth 
about  her  end.  That  end  has  been  a  night- 
mare to  me  ever  since.  I  cannot  think  of  it 
even  now  without  torture." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  I  said.  "  Don't  dwell 
upon  it.  To  do  so  is  really  morbid." 

"  I  don't  dwell  upon  it,  as  .a  rule.  Have  I 
ever  even  mentioned  this  subject  to  you  be- 
fore?" 

"  No,  no.    But " 

'  That  man,  your  friend  Deeming,  has 
roused  me  up.  I — I  tell  you  that  I  hate — that 
it  is  almost  unbearable  to  me  to  think  of  his 
having  a  dog — a  black  spaniel,  like  Whisper 
— in  his  power." 

He  said  the  last  words  with  extraordinary 
vehemence. 

"  That  was  what  you  meant  then!"  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  When  you  mistook  me  just  now?  Yes, 
that!" 

He  relapsed  into  silence,  but  kept  his  still 
19 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

glowing  eyes  fixed  upon  me.  I  seemed  to  read 
in  them  that  he  had  more  to  tell  me,  to  see  that 
there  was  some  project,  some  intention  of  ac- 
tion, blazing  in  his  mind. 

"  Look  here,  Vernon,"  I  said,  determined 
to  be  quite  frank  with  him  at  whatever  cost, 
"Deeming  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  I  know." 

"  That  being  so,  I  don't  think  you  can  ex- 
pect me  to  be  ready  to  harbour  foul  suspicions 
of  him  without  any  reason  for  them  being  ad- 
duced. If  he  were  to  be  suspicious  of  you, 
and  told  me  so,  I  should  speak  to  him  as  I 
speak  to  you  now.  What  on  earth  has  the  man 
done  or  said  to  make  you  so  violent — yes,  my 
dear  friend,  that  is  the  word — against  him?  " 

He  did  not  look  angry  at  my  energy,  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  look  doubtful  or 
disposed  towards  modification.  He  only  said, 
"  How  well  do  you  know  Deeming  ?  " 

"  Not  very  intimately,  but  well  enough  to 
feel  sure  that  he  is  a  humane  man.  Patients 
of  his  have  spoken  to  me  of  him,  of  his  skill, 
his  care,  and  devotion  in  the  highest  terms." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it.  I  don't  doubt  that  he  is 
humane  as  a  doctor.  Anyone  can  see  that  he 
is  devoted  to  his  profession,  and  his  profes- 
sion is  to  heal  human  suffering.  Ambition 
alone  would  cause  him  to  be  humane — as  a 
doctor." 

'  You  said  yourself  you  were  a  bit  of  a 
20* 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

crank.  Aren't  you  ever  afraid  that  your 
crankiness  may  lead  you — now  do  forgive  me ! 
— into  something  approaching  malice  ?  " 

I  thought  he  might  be  angry,  but  he  wasn't. 

"  My  intuition — apart  from  anything  else," 
he  said — "my  intuition  tells  me  that  Deeming 
is  a  cruel  man." 

"  I  don't  believe  it.    Vivisection " 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  that  now.  What  I 
am  thinking  is  that  I  should  like  to  see  Deem- 
ing's  dog." 

'  That  wouldn't  be  difficult,  I  imagine." 

'  You  don't  mean  that  she  is  with  him  here, 
in  Rome?" 

"  Oh  no.     A  dog  in  a  hotel  is  apt  to  be  a 


nuisance." 


"  I  don't  agree  with  you." 

'  Well,  well ;  but  you  always  come  to  Lon- 
don in  the  late  summer.  I  suppose  you'll  do 
so  this  year? " 

"  Probably." 

"  Call  on  Deeming.  He's  a  hospitable  man, 
and  if  you  entertain  him  here  in  Rome,  he  is 
sure  to  ask  you  out  in  London.  There  you  can 
see  for  yourself  whether  his  dog  isn't  properly 
treated,  as  I'll  swear  she  is,  and  as  happy  as 
dog  can  be." 

I  spoke  lightly,  even  with  a  deliberately  jo- 
cose and  chaffing  air.  He  listened  to  me 
gravely. 

"  I  will  invite  Deeming  here,"  he  said.  "  In- 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

deed,  I  intended  to  in  any  case,  as  he  is  a  friend 
of  yours." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  But  you  say  he  usually  entertains  in  res- 
taurants when  he  is  in  London.  I  have  no 
reason  to  think  I  shall  ever  set  my  foot  inside 
his  house." 

The  extreme  gravity  of  his  manner,  the 
earnestness  of  the  eyes  that  were  fixed  upon 
me,  made  me  realise  how  strong  was  his 
strange  desire,  and  therefore,  how  strong  was 
his — as  I  thought  then — absurd  and  unreason- 
able suspicion.  I  might  have  continued  to 
laugh  at  it,  and  chaff  him  about  it,  but  I  did 
not.  Something  in  his  face  and  manner  made 
me  unable  to  do  so,  made  me  suddenly  con- 
scious that,  however  much  I  laughed,  I  could 
never  laugh  him  out  of  his  curious,  and  surely 
morbid,  anxiety  to  verify,  or  lull  to  rest,  his 
fears.  And  I  must  confess — so  easily  are  we 
influenced  by  certain  convinced  people  whom 
we  care  for — that  I,  too,  was  becoming,  at  that 
moment,  oddly  interested  in  this  matter  of 
Deeming  and  his  black  spaniel.  Why  had  I 
never  seen  the  dog,  never  heard  Deeming 
mention  it  till  the  other  night? 

"  If  Deeming  doesn't  invite  you  to  his 
house,"  I  said,  changing  my  tone,  "  there's  a 
very  easy  method  of  getting  into  it." 

"  What  method?  "  said  Vernon  eagerly. 

"  Go  to  him  as  a  patient." 

I  had  scarcely  said  the  words  before  I  felt 
22 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

» 

uncomfortable,  almost  traitorous.  Here  was 
I  entering  into  something  that  was  like  a 
plot  with  one  friend  to  get  at  a  knowledge 
of  another  which  that  other  had  never  volun- 
tarily tendered  to  me.  I  was  angry  with 
myself. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Vernon,"  I  exclaimed, 
"  I'm  ashamed  of  myself!  Don't  let  us  discuss 
this  matter  any  longer.  Deeming  and  you  are 
both  my  friends,  and  I  wish  to  act  always  fair- 
ly and  squarely  by  you  both." 

;<  What  unfairness  is  there  in  enabling  me 
to  prove  the  folly  and  falseness  of  my  suspi- 
cions? "  he  rejoined  quickly. 

"I  know — I  know;  but — oh,  the  whole 
thing  is  really  absurd.  It  is  madness  to  think 
such  things  of  a  man  with  no  evidence  to  go 
upon." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  have  no  evi- 
dence? " 

"  How  can  you  have  any?  " 

"Are  a  man's  words  no  evidence?  Is  his 
face  while  he  says  them  no  evidence?  " 

"  Did  you  talk  about  his  dog  when  he  was 
here  this  afternoon  ? "  I  asked  abruptly, 
moved  by  a  sudden  impression  that  he  was 
keeping  something  from  me. 

"He  wouldn't  talk  about  her.  I  am  quite 
certain  of  one  thing." 

'  What  is  that?  " 

"  That  Deeming  wishes  now  that  he  had 
never  mentioned  to  us  that  he  had  a  dog." 

23 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  suppose  I  looked  incredulous,  for  he  add- 
ed, without  giving  me  time  to  speak — 

"  When  you  see  him  again,  try  to  turn  the 
conversation  upon  the  black  spaniel,  and  see 
how  he  takes  it.  And  now  let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else." 

During  the  rest  of  the  evening  Deeming 
and  his  dog  were  not  mentioned.  Vernon  re- 
sumed, almost  like  a  garment,  his  old  self,  the 
self  I  had  always  known,  cultured,  gentle  in 
manner,  full  of  interest  in  every  topic  that 
lent  itself  to  quiet  discussion  and  amiable  de- 
bate. The  evil  spirit — I  thought  of  it  as  al- 
most that — had  departed  out  of  him,  and  when 
I  got  up  to  go  I  could  hardly  believe  that  I 
had  ever  been  the  recipient  of  his  vehemence, 
or  seen  his  eyes  blazing  with  the  light  of  scarce- 
ly controlled  passion.  He  came  with  me  to  the 
hall-door  and  let  me  out  into  the  quiet  night. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  pressing  my  hand. 

"  Good-bye,"  I  answered. 

I  hesitated.    Then  I  said — 

"  Doesn't  this  calm  of  the  night  embracing 
Rome  make  you — make  you  feel  that  in  your 
suspicions  of  Deeming  you  have  been  unrea- 
sonable; that,  after  all,  it  is  unlikely  he  should 
be  what  you  have  fancied  him  to  be? " 

In  an  instant  all  the  calmness,  all  the  gentle- 
ness went  out  of  his  face.  But  he  only  an- 
swered— 

"  When  you  get  back  to  the  hotel  talk  to 
24 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL, 

him  about  his  black  spaniel,  and  see  how  he 
takes  it.    Good-night." 

Before  I  could  say  anything  more  he  had 
drawn  back  into  his  house  and  shut  the  door 
quickly  behind  him. 


25 


Ill 

As  I  walked  back  to  the  Grand  Hotel  I 
thought  over  Vernon's  last  words  and  the 
way  in  which  he  had  said  them.  Should  I 
obey  his  injunctions?  I  confessed  to  my- 
self with  reluctance  that  my  conversation  with 
him  that  evening  had  made  me  suspicious  of 
a  friend.  Yet  I  had  Vernon's  own  word  for 
it  that  he  was  a  crank  on  the  subject  of  ani- 
mals, and  my  recent  experience  of  him  almost 
forced  me  to  the  conclusion  that  in  his  nature, 
usually  so  gentle,  there  must  be  an  odd  strain 
of  fanaticism.  My  mind  was  troubled,  and  I 
reached  the  hotel  without  coming  to  a  deci- 
sion as  to  whether  I  would  speak  to  Deeming 
about  his  dog  or  not.  As  I  came  into  the  outer 
hall  I  saw  him  through  the  glass  door  sitting 
alone  in  the  winter  garden,  smoking,  with  a 
paper,  which  he  was  not  reading,  lying  on  his 
knee.  He  did  not  see  me,  and,  for  a  moment, 
I  watched  him  with  a  furtive  curiosity  of  which 
I  was  secretly  half -ashamed.  Perhaps  stirred 
by  my  gaze,  he  suddenly  looked  up,  caught 
sight  of  me,  smiled,  and  made  a  slight  gesture, 
as  if  beckoning  me  to  come  in  and  have  a  talk. 
I  took  off  my  overcoat  and  joined  him. 

"I've  just  come  from  Vernon,"  I  said,  sit- 
ting down  and  lighting  a  cigar. 

26 


AS    I     WALKED     BACK,     I    THOUGHT     OVER     VERNON'S     LAST 
WORDS." 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"Ah!"  said  Deeming. 

He  uncrossed  his  legs,  crossed  them  again, 
and  added: 

"  He's  got  a  beautiful  house." 

'  Yes,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  Rome. 
He  wants  you  to  dine  with  him  one  night,  I 
believe.  Probably  he'll  ask  you  in  a  day  or 
two." 

'  Very  good  of  him." 

His  voice  was  scarcely  cordial. 

"  He's  a  curious  fellow,"  he  continued. 
"  Easy  in  his  manner,  but  difficult  really  to 
know,  I  fancy." 

"If  you  dine  with  him  you  may  find  him 
less  reserved,"  I  said,  rather  perfunctorily. 

"  I  don't  suppose  he'll  ask  me  alone." 

"  Oh,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  I  don't  think  he  cares  much  about  me," 
Deeming  continued  abruptly.  "  Do  you?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  he  hardly  knows  you," 
I  exclaimed.  '  You  haven't  been  quarrelling 
over  the  animal  world  this  afternoon,  have 
you?" 

And  I  laughed,  but  without  much  cordial- 
ity, I  fear. 

"Did  he  say  we  had?" 

"  Good  heavens,  no!  But  you  differ  on  the 
dog  question,  and  so " 

Deeming  frowned. 

"The  dog  question!"  he  said.  "Why  on 
earth  should  you  call  it  that?" 

"Well,  I  mean  that  he's  very  sensitive  since 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

he  lost  his  dog,  and  that  perhaps  makes  him  a 
little  unreasonable  at  times,  though  I  must  say 
that  till  the  other  night  when  he  dined  here  I 
never  heard  him  mention  the  subject  of  ani- 
mals and  their  relation  with  man.  And,  by 
the  way,  you've  been  equally  silent.  Till  the 
other  night  I  never  knew  you  possessed  a 
dog." 

"Is  it  such  an  important  matter  that  I 
should  go  about  proclaiming  it? " 

His  tone  was  suddenly  hard  and  impatient. 

"  No,  of  course  not." 

"  I  hate  people  who  bother  their  friends 
about  their  pets.  It's  almost  as  bad  as  the 
women  who  are  always  talking  about  the  mar- 
vellous beauty  and  genius  of  their  squalling 
babies." 

He  set  his  lips  together  as  if  he  never  meant 
to  open  them  again,  and  I  saw  a  look  as  of 
acute  nervous  irritation  in  his  eyes.  It  warned 
me  not  to  persevere  in  the  conversation,  and 
made  me  vexed  with  myself  for  having  given 
way  to  Vernon's  desire. 

"Let's  have  a  nightcap,"  I  said.  "What 
do  you  think  of  doing  to-morrow?  What  do 
you  say  to  getting  a  carriage  and  driving  over 
to  lunch  at  Tivoli?" 

He  looked  more  easy. 

"  If  it  is  fine  I  should  enjoy  it  immensely," 
he  said  in  a  calmer  voice. 

And  we  talked  of  old  gardens  and  the  beau- 
ty of  rushing  water. 

28 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

We  spent  the  following  day  together  at 
Tivoli.  When  we  came  back  towards  evening, 
the  hall-porter  handed  to  Deeming  a  note.  It 
was  from  Vernon,  inviting  him  to  dine  two 
days  later. 

"  You  see  how  he  hates  you!  "  I  said  chafF- 
ingly  when  he  told  me.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
go?" 

"Oh,  yes.    Why  not?  " 

He  spoke  lightly,  holding  the  note  open  in 
his  hand. 

He  did  not  go,  however,  and  for  this  reason. 
On  the  morning  of  the  day  he  was  to  dine  with 
Vernon,  he  left  Rome  for  England.  An  ur- 
gent summons  from  a  patient,  he  told  me, 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  London 
without  a  moment's  delay. 

I  remonstrated  with  him,  but  in  vain. 

"  I've  had  quite  enough  rest,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
all  right.  And  this  is  an  important  matter. 
It  means  a  very  large  sum  of  money." 

"  Health's  more  than  money." 

"  Certainly,  but  I  feel  quite  my  own  man 
again." 

He  did  not  look  it,  but  I  said  no  more. 

I  knew  that  argument  would  be  useless.  He 
sent  a  note  to  Vernon,  and,  when  I  bade  him 
good-bye,  begged  me  to  express  his  regret  at 
being  obliged  to  cancel  the  dinner. 

"  But  I  hope  some  day  he'll  come  to  dine 
with  me  in  London.  Do  tell  him  so,"  he 
said,  as  he  stepped  into  the  omnibus  to  go  to 

29 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

the    station.      "  I    should   like   to    meet   him 
again." 

Those  were  his  last  words.  I  repeated  them 
to  Vernon. 

"  I  shall  not  forget  that  invitation,  I  assure 
you,"  he  said  quietly.  "And  I  may  be  able  to 
enjoy  Deeming's  hospitality  sooner  than  he, 
perhaps,  expects." 

'  Why?  You're  surely  not  going  to  Lon- 
don yet  awhile?  I  thought  you  loved  your 
June  in  Rome  better  than  any  other  month  of 
the  year." 

"  But  I've  had  so  many  Junes  in  Rome  that 
I  think  I  shall  make  a  change.  By  the  way, 
when  will  you  be  in  London?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  by  the  last  week  in  April." 

"  If  I  asked  to  travel  back  with  you,  would 
you  object  to  my  company?  " 

"My  dear  fellow!  Of  course  I  should  be 
delighted." 

'  Let  us  consider  it  a  bargain,  then." 

He  spoke  decisively,  and  shook  me  by  the 
hand  as  if  to  clinch  the  bargain.  Nor  did  he 
forget  it. 

The  third  week  in  April  found  us  in  Paris, 
and  on  the  twenty-second  of  that  month  we 
stepped  into  the  rapide  at  the  Gare  du  Nord, 
bound  for  England. 

We  sat  opposite  to  one  another  in  the  com- 
partment, with,  at  first,  ramparts  of  London 
papers  between  us;  but,  as  we  drew  near  to 
Boulogne,  first  Vernon's  rampart  fell,  and 

30 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

then  mine.  The  thought  of  the  nearness  of 
England  had  got  hold  of  us  both.  London 
ideas  were  taking  possession  of  us,  and,  as 
the  train  rushed  on  towards  the  sea,  we  became 
restless,  as  if  the  roar  of  the  great  city  were 
already  in  our  ears. 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  said,  breaking  our  mu- 
tual silence,  "  that,  familiar  as  I  am  with  Lon- 
don, I  can  never  return  to  it  after  an  absence 
without  a  feeling  of  apprehension.  It  always 
seems  to  me  that  in  its  black  and  smoky  arms 
it  must  hold  some  disaster  which  it  is  waiting 
to  give  to  me." 

"I've  had  that  sensation,  too,"  said  Vernon. 
"  Among  the  cities  of  the  world  London  is  the 
monster,  not  merely  by  right  of  size  but  by 
other,  and  more  mysterious  rights.  It  affects 
my  imagination  more  than  any  of  the  Euro- 
pean capitals,  but  rather  frightfully  than 
agreeably.  I  feel  that  it  is  the  city  of  adven- 
ture, but  that  every  adventure  there  must  have 
a  fearsome  ending." 

"  No  doubt  we  are  affected  by  its  climate 
and  its  atmosphere." 

"  I  dare  say.  Still,  if  anything  very  strange, 
very  uncommon,  should  ever  happen  to  me,  I 
am  quite  sure  that  it  will  be  in  London." 

I  smiled. 

"  My  experience,"  I  said,  "  has  been  that  in 
London  I  am  perpetually  expectant  of  gloomy 
and  mysterious  events,  but  that  my  life  there 
is  remarkably  unromantic  and  commonplace." 

31 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

'  You  speak  almost  regretfully.  Do  you 
wish  for  gloomy  and  mysterious  events  in  your 
life?" 

"  I  suppose  not.  Yet  there  is  a  spirit  hidden 
in  one  which  does  sigh  plaintively  for  the 
strange." 

"  Perhaps  this  time  it  will  be  gratified." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  moved 
me  to  say — 

"  Do  you  expect  it  to  be  gratified?  " 

"I!    Why  should  I?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Something  in  your  voice 
made  me  fancy  that  you  did." 

He  laughed. 

"  The  London  atmosphere  is,  perhaps,  af- 
fecting me  already,"  he  said.  "  The  London 
influence  is  taking  hold  of  me.  I  told  you  it 
always  stirred  my  imagination." 

"At  Boulogne-sur-mer! "  I  said,  as  the 
train  ran  into  the  station.  "  The  monster's 
arms  are  longer  than  Goliath's! " 

The  stoppage  of  the  train  interrupted  our 
conversation.  We  got  out  to  stretch  our  legs 
for  a  moment,  and  as  we  did  so  I  found  myself 
wondering  why  Vernon,  generally  a  very 
frank  man,  at  any  rate  with  me,  should  have 
met  my  plain  question  with  an  attempt  at 
laughing  subterfuge.  It  was  a  very  slight 
matter,  of  course.  In  another  man  I  should, 
perhaps,  scarcely  have  noticed  it.  But  it  was 
not  Vernon's  way,  and  therefore  it  struck  me. 
I  felt  that  he  wished  to  prevent  me  from  get- 

32 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

ting  at  the  truth  of  his  mind  at  this  moment. 
Usually,  his  desire  certainly  was  that  the  truth 
of  his  mind  should  be  known  to  me. 

We  travelled  to  Calais  in  silence.  Then 
came  the  bustle  of  going  aboard  the  steamer 
and  fortifying  ourselves  against  the  painful 
attentions  of  a  sharp  north-easterly  wind. 
When  we  were  established  in  our  deck-chairs, 
and  closely  wrapped  in  rugs,  we  glanced 
round  to  see  whether  we  had  any  acquaint- 
ances among  our  fellow-passengers.  The 
steamer  was  just  casting  off,  and  some,  like 
ourselves,  were  already  settled  down  for  the 
voyage,  while  others  were  tramping  up  and 
down  briskly,  with  an  air  of  determination, 
as  if  bent  upon  making  their  blood  circulate, 
and  getting  the  maximum  of  benefit  out  of 
the  crossing.  Among  the  latter  was  an  elder- 
ly man,  with  pepper-and-salt  hair  and  a  thin, 
aristocratic  face. 

"  Hullo,"  I  said,  "  there's  Lord  Elyn.  I 
wonder  where  he's  come  from." 

Turning  in  his  walk,  he  was  in  front  of  us 
almost  as  I  said  the  words,  and,  seeing  me, 
stopped,  and,  bending  down,  shook  my  hand. 

"  Where  do  you  hail  from?  "  he  asked. 

"  Paris,"  I  answered.  "  I've  been  in  Rome. 
And  you?  " 

"  Calais." 
'  You've  been  staying  at  Calais?  " 

"  No.  I'm  here  for  my  medicine.  I  live 
on  the  Channel  at  present,  or  nearly.  My 

33 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

doctor,  Peter  Deeming — he'll  be  Sir  Peter 
before  long,  I  suppose — has  prescribed  the 
double  voyage,  from  Dover  and  back,  every 
day  of  the  week  for  a  month.  I  sleep  at  the 
Burlington  and  eat  bceuf-a-la-mode  at  the 
Calais  buffet  every  midday  of  my  life  just 


now." 


"  Deeming's  a  friend  of  mine — of  ours,"  I 
jsaid.  "  May  I  introduce  Mr.  Kersteven — 
Lord  Elyn." 

The  two  men  bowed. 

"  It's  a  pity  he  doesn't  take  his  own  medi- 
cine," said  Lord  Elyn.  "  I've  tried  to  persuade 
him,  but  in  vain  so  far.  However,  I've  got  his 
promise  to  come  down  to-night — Saturday, 
you  know — and  stay  till  Monday,  and  make 
the  voyage  with  me  to-morrow.  I  expect 
to  find  him  at  the  Burlington  when  I  get 
back." 

I  saw  a  sharp  look  of  eagerness  come  into 
Vernon's  face. 

"Is  .Deeming  looking  ill,  Lord  Elyn?" 
he  asked.  "  You  say  it  is  a  pity  he  doesn't  take 
the  medicine  he  prescribes  for  you." 

"  I  think  him  looking  very  ill — pale  and 
worried  and  played  out.  He  is  too  great  a 
success  and  pays  the  penalty — works  too  hard, 
like  most  successful  men.  He  ought  to  have 
prolonged  his  holiday  in  Rome.  I  can't  imag- 
ine why  he  hurried  back  to  town  so  unex- 
pectedly." 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  I  can  explain  that.  He 
34 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

was  summoned  to  town  by  an  important  pa- 
tient." 

"Really!"  said  Lord  Elyn.  "I  never 
heard  of  it." 

He  sounded  slightly  incredulous. 

"  I  saw  him  almost  directly  he  arrived,"  he 
added;  "and  when  I  inquired  why  he  had 
shortened  his  trip  to  Italy,  he  merely  told  me 
that  he  was  all  right  and  had  got  sick  of  doing 
nothing." 

"Well,"  I  answered,  "he  left  Rome  at  a 
moment's  notice,  and  gave  me  the  reason  I 
told  you." 

"  Oh!  Well,  then,  of  course,  it  was  so.  A 
pity  for  him — though  not  for  us,  eh?  He's  a 
wonderful  doctor.  No  one  like  him.  And 
now,  if  you'll  excuse  me,  I  must  take  exer- 
cise. I  keep  walking  the  whole  time,  by  com- 
mand." 

He  nodded,  and  went  off  up  the  deck  at  a 
brisk  pace. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that  about  Deeming,"  I 
said  to  Vernon. 

"  Yes.  It's  a  pity  he  was  called  away  from 
Rome." 

His  voice,  too,  sounded  incredulous. 

"Why  d'you  say  it  like  that?"  I  asked. 
"  You  don't  think  he  told  us  a  lie?  " 

"Why  put  it  so  cruelly?  He  may  have 
made  an  excuse.  When  one  receives  a  boring 
dinner-invitation,  one  has  sometimes  a  previ- 
ous engagement." 

35 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"A   dinner-invitation!      Surely   you   don't 

?  " 

'  Well,  he  was  to  have  dined  with  me  the 
night  of  the  day  he  left.  But,  of  course,  it 
may  have  been  a  pure  coincidence." 

Lord  Elyn  passed  us  again,  and  repassed. 

"  I  say,  Luttrell,"  Vernon  added,  "  what  do 
you  say  to  one  more  night  out  of  London? 
What  do  you  say  to  a  night  at  the  Burling- 
ton? " 

"  At  Dover? " 

"  Yes." 

"But  the  luggage!  It's  all  registered 
through." 

"We've  got  our  dressing-cases,  and  my 
man  has  a  bag  with  my  pyjamas.  Evening 
dress  doesn't  matter  for  a  night.  I'm  sure  the 
Burlington  will  forgive  us,  especially  if  we 
engage  a  sitting-room." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that  doesn't  matter." 

"  What  do  you  say,  then?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  mind,  but — what's 
made  you  think  of  it  all  of  a  sudden?  Have 
you  taken  a  violent  fancy  to  Lord  Elyn?  " 

My  voice  was  challenging.  He  only  smiled 
quietly. 

"  A  very  violent  fancy.     I  like  obedient 


men." 


Lord  Elyn  passed  once  more  with  a  serious, 
determined  air.  He  did  not  look  at  us.  He 
was  intent  on  his  medicine. 

"  You're  joking." 

36 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  So  were  you." 

I  laughed. 

"  Of  course.  You  don't  choose  to  tell  me 
your  reason  for  wishing  to  stop  at  Dover?  " 

"  I  think  you've  guessed  it." 

He  unrolled  the  rug  from  his  legs  and  got 
up. 

"I'm  going  to  take  some  medicine,  too. 
Think  over  the  Burlington  and  tell  me  pres- 
ently." 

In  a  moment  I  saw  him  join  Lord  Elyn, 
and  they  walked  up  and  down  together,  talk- 
ing busily. 

Of  course,  I  had  "  guessed  it."  He  wanted 
to  meet  Deeming  again,  to  meet  him  directly 
we  landed  in  England.  My  previous  suspicion 
— it  had  been  almost  more  than  a  suspicion — 
was  confirmed.  I  felt  positive  now  that  Ver- 
non  had  cut  short  his  stay  in  Rome,  given  up 
his  June  there,  in  order  to  follow  Deeming  to 
London  and  try  to  see  more  of  him.  The 
obsession  of  the  black  spaniel — I  called  it  that 
now  in  my  mind  for  the  first  time — was  still 
upon  him,  had  been  upon  him  ever  since  the 
night  when  I  had  made  my  two  friends  ac- 
quainted with  each  other  in  the  winter  garden 
of  the  Grand  Hotel.  And  Deeming?  Had  he 
really  invented  an  imaginary  patient  in  order 
to  have  a  good  excuse  for  leaving  Rome  and 
so  avoiding  Vernon's  dinner?  If  that  were  so, 
then  I  was  assisting  at  a  sort  of  man-hunt,  in 
which  two  of  my  friends  were  pursued  and 

37 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

pursuer.  I  began  to  feel  as  if  I  were  going 
to  be  involved  in  something  extraordinary. 
And  yet  how  vague,  how  fantastic  it  all  was! 
And  my  own  position?  I  tried  to  review  it. 
If  I  assisted  Vernon  in  any  way,  could  I  be 
called — or  rather,  should  I  be,  that  was  the 
only  thing  that  mattered — disloyal  to  'Deem- 
ing? I  felt  rather  uncomfortable,  and  yet 
— and  this  was  strange — rather  excited.  I 
thought  of  my  conversation  with  Vernon 
about  London.  I  had  been  absent  from  it  for 
some  time,  yet  already,  and  on  the  sea,  I  felt 
affected  by  its  powerful  and  dreadful  influ- 
ence, felt  that  curious  sense  of  apprehension 
which  I  had  mentioned  to  Vernon  in  the  train. 
Suddenly  I  resolved  to  fall  in  with  my  friend's 
wish  to  stay  the  night  at  Dover.  After  all, 
what  did  it  matter?  He  and  Deeming  would 
certainly  meet  in  London.  Why  strive  to 
postpone  the  meeting?  It  seemed  to  me — I 
was  thinking  somewhat  absurdly,  I  acknowl- 
edge it — that  it  would  be  better,  safer,  that  the 
encounter  should  take  place  at  Dover,  under 
the  white  cliffs,  with  the  sea-wind  coming  in, 
perhaps,  through  open  windows.  London  was 
mephitic,  and  turned  one  to  gloomy  and  mor- 
bid imaginations.  The  sea-wind  might  blow 
away  Vernon's  extraordinary  suspicions  of 
Deeming,  and  lay  to  rest  the  obsession  of  the 
black  spaniel. 

Moved  by  this  idea,  when  Vernon  presently 
stopped  before  me  with  Lord  Elyn,  I  said — 

38 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  give  my  vote  for  a  night  at  the  Bur- 
lington." 

"  Capital!  "  said  Vernon.  "  I've  been  tell- 
ing Lord  Elyn  we  thought  of  staying,  and  he 
is  sure  our  tweeds  and  coloured  ties  will  be  for- 
given us." 


39 


IV 

AT  the  Burlington  in  the  hall  we  found 
Deeming.  I  saw  him  before  he  was  aware 
of  us,  and  was  startled  by  the  change  in  his 
face.  There  was  the  stamp  of  nervous  ex- 
haustion upon  it.  The  complexion  was  grey, 
the  mouth  was  drawn,  the  eyes  were  anxious, 
almost  feverish.  When  he  turned  and  faced 
us  fully  he  made  an  abrupt  movement  which 
was  certainly  not  caused  by  pleasure,  and  I 
saw  the  fingers  of  his  two  hands  clench  them- 
selves violently  in  the  palms.  Then  he  recov- 
ered himself,  came  forward,  and  greeted  us 
with  self-possession. 

"  I  never  expected  to  see  you  in  England 
so  soon,"  he  said  to  Vernon.  "  I  thought  you 
usually  spent  part  of  the  summer  in  Rome." 

"  I  often  do.  But  this  year  something  has 
called  me  to  London." 

"  Oh.  Well,  all  the  better.  We  shall  see 
something  of  you.  I  hope  we  shall  bring  off 
our  dinner  together  in  town.  Only  you  must 
let  me  be  the  host." 

"  Thank  you.    I  shall  be  delighted." 

The  note  of  cordiality  was,  I  thought, 
forced  by  both  men.  Few  more  words  were 
spoken,  for  it  was  getting  late,  and  the  hour 
of  dinner  was  approaching.  As  we  went  up- 
stairs I  said  to  Vernon — 

40 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  Deeming  does  certainly  want  medicine  of 
one  sort  or  another.  Don't  you  think  he  looks 
horribly  ill? " 

"He  has  a  strung-up  expression.  I  should 
say  he's  overworking.  Did  you  notice  how 
he  started  when  he  saw  us?  " 

"Did  he?"  I  answered,  disingenuously  I 
confess.  "  Naturally  he  was  surprised.  He 
had  no  idea  we  were  in  England." 

"  Exactly.  Here  are  our  rooms.  'Au  re- 
voir  at  dinner." 

The  dinner  I  need  not  chronicle  at  length. 
It  took  place  downstairs,  although  we  had  en- 
gaged the  sitting-room  to  appease  a  manage- 
ment shocked  at  our  lack  of  evening  clothes. 
The  talk  ran  easily  enough,  helped  by  Lord 
Elyn's  unconsciousness  of  the  obsession  of  the 
black  spaniel,  which  sometimes  seemed  to  me 
to  be  hovering  about  our  table,  creeping  be- 
neath our  chairs,  a  shadow  importunate,  ser- 
vile, yet  menacing.  I  felt  that  the  thoughts 
of  Deeming  and  Vernon,  interlacing  and  in- 
imical, were  on  this  whining,  whimpering,  un- 
easy shadow,  that  had  called  the  latter  from 
his  home  in  Italy,  that  had  stopped  him  here 
by  the  grey  sea.  I  knew  it  as  if  those  thoughts 
were  spread  before  me  by  my  plate.  And  all 
the  time  we  chatted,  glancing  from  subject  to 
subject  without  great  earnestness,  laughing 
lightly  at  the  last  London  absurdity,  or  dis- 
cussing with  apparent  animation  the  chances 
of  politics  and  the  trend  of  art,  I  felt  that  our 

41 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

conversation  was  but  a  thin  veil  spread  over 
a  depth  in  which  were  other  voices  than  ours, 
murmuring,  in  which  the  pale  forms  of  future 
events  glided,  like  spectres,  to  and  fro. 

Directly  after  dinner  Lord  Elyn  excused 
himself. 

"  The  eyes  of  the  nurse  are  upon  me,"  he 
said,  jocosely.  "  I  see  them  saying:  '  Master 
Elyn,  it's  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed ! '  Eh, 
Deeming? " 

"  Quite  right,  Lord  Elyn,"  answered  Deem- 
ing, smiling. 

'  Well,  good-night.  You'd  much  better 
come  too,  Deeming." 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  sleep  yet.  I  haven't  been 
on  the  sea.  I  think  I  shall  go  out  and  take  a 
breath  of  air  on  the  front." 

"  Perhaps  it  may  do  you  good.  I  feel  full 
of  sleep." 

And  he  went  off,  leaving  us  in  the  hall. 
'  Will  you  come  out?  "  asked  Deeming. 

The  invitation  seemed  addressed  to  both  of 
us.  I  expected  Vernon  to  accept  it  with  alac- 
rity, but,  to  my  surprise,  he  took  up  the  West- 
minster Gazette. 

"I'm  a  bit  tired,"  he  answered.  "  I  think 
I'll  stay  here." 

"  I'll  come  with  you,"  I  said. 

"  Right.  I  want  a  turn  or  two  to  summon 
slumber." 

There  was  something  almost  pathetic  in  his 
voice.  It  moved  me  to  ask,  as  we  went  down 

42 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

the  steps,  and  along  the  row  of  houses  to  the 
sea-front — 

"  Have  you  been  sleeping  badly,  then?  " 

"  Pretty  badly.  I  say,  what's  brought  Ver- 
non  over  so  soon? " 

The  question  was  sharply  suspicious. 

"  He  didn't  tell  me,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  don't  know?  " 

We  turned  to  the  left  and  walked  along 
the  parade  towards  the  cliff.  No  one  was 
about  in  the  cold  and  gusty  night.  Now  and 
then  a  light  flashed  out  across  the  sea,  swept 
it  in  a  half  circle,  and  vanished  in  the  dark- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  in  all  Vernon's  secrets,"  I 
said. 

Directly  I  had  spoken  I  regretted  my  choice 
of  words. 

"Secrets!"  he  said. 

"  I  only  mean  that  Vernon's  not  specially 
given  to  making  confidences.  If  he  has  any 
particular  reason  for  coming  to  England  at 
this  time  of  year,  he  hasn't  told  it  to  me.  But 
why  should  he  have  any  special  reason?  " 

Deeming  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Where  is  he  going  to  stay  in  town? "  he 
asked. 

"At  Claridge's,  I  believe;  at  any  rate,  for 
a  time." 

"  Then  he  means  to  make  a  long  stay?  " 

His  voice  still  sounded  intensely  suspicious. 
Suddenly  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  stand  all  this 

43 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

subterfuge,  as  if  I  must  brush  away  from  me 
the  spider's  web  of  mutual  distrust  in  which 
my  two  friends  were  entangling  me  with  each 
other. 

"My  dear  fellow!"  I  exclaimed.  'You 
really  make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  under  cross- 
examination.  I  begin  to  wish  I  had  never  in- 
troduced you  and  Vernon  to  each  other." 

Deeming  stopped  dead,  and  looked  at  me. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better,"  he 
said.  "  Much  better." 

"  You  think  so,  too?    Why?  " 

"  Can't  you  see  that  Vernon  hates  me?  " 
he  said,  with  violence. 

"  What  earthly  reason  can  he  have  for  hat- 
ing you? " 

"  Some  men  don't  ask  for  reasons.  There 
is  something  about  me  which  is  antipathetic 
to  Vernon,  and  he's  a  strange  fellow.  You 
think  him  gentle,  I  know.  But  I — well,  I 
believe  that  underneath  his  apparent  gentle- 
ness hides  the  soul  of  a  fanatic,  a  black  fa- 
natic." 

We  were  still  standing  face  to  face.  Now 
I  looked  into  his  eyes  and  said: 

"  I'm  going  to  be  very  rude  to  you." 

"  Go  on.     I'll  bear  it.'] 

"  I  am  perfectly  certain  you  are  suffering 
from  nervous  exhaustion.  You  have  all  the 
symptoms.  You  are  horribly  pale  and  shaky, 
and  full  of  irritability  and  suspicion,  ready 
to  entertain  any  dark  idea  that  may  present 

44 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

itself  to  you,  unable  to  see  things  in  a  clear 
light  of  reason." 

"  And  you,  Luttrell;  do  you  know  what  you 
are?" 

"I!" 

"  Yes.  I'm  going  to  be  rude  to  you.  You 
are  either  a  self -deceiver  or  a — well,  something 
one  doesn't  care  to  call  a  man.  You  know 
quite  well,  in  your  heart,  that  Vernon  has  come 
over  so  soon  because — because— 

Suddenly  he  hesitated,  faltered,  broke  off. 

I  seemed  to  hear  the  whimper  of  a  dog  near 
us  in  the  night. 

"  I've  had  enough  of  the  wind,"  he  said. 
"  I'm  going  in." 

And  we  went  back  to  the  hotel  without  an- 
other word. 

Next  morning,  Vernon  and  I  went  up  to 
town  by  an  early  train,  leaving  Lord  Elyn 
and  Deeming  to  take  their  Channel  trip.  At 
Charing  Cross,  as  we  were  parting,  Vernon 
to  go  to  Claridge's  and  I  to  my  flat  in  Albe- 
marle  Street,  Vernon  said,  "  By  the  way,  what 
is  Deeming's  address?  " 

'  Three  hundred,  Wimpole  Street,"  I  said. 

He  took  out  a  card  and  a  pencil. 

"  Three  hundred,  Wimpole  Street,"  he  re- 
peated slowly,  as  he  wrote  it  down.  "  Good- 
bye. Let's  meet  to-morrow.  Come  and  lunch 
with  me." 

He  got  into  a  hansom  and  drove  away.  I 
followed  in  a  moment.  As  my  cab  came  out 

45 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

of  the  station  yard  and  crossed  Trafalgar 
Square  I  was  enveloped  in  what  I  called  to 
myself  "  the  London  feeling."  The  day  was 
warm,  but  dull  and  grey.  The  tall  buildings, 
the  statue  of  Gordon,  the  Nelson  column,  the 
lions,  looked  sad  and  phantom-like  to  my  eyes, 
for  many  months  accustomed  to  the  pellucid 
clearness  of  African  landscapes,  to  the  bril- 
liant blue  of  Italian  skies.  And  the  well- 
known  depression  which  always  settles  down 
upon  me  like  a  fog  when  I  first  return  to  Lon- 
don came  to  me  once  more,  bathing  me  in  a 
gloom  which  I  strove  in  vain  to  shake  off.  In 
this  gloom  I  seemed  to  see,  like  shadows  pass- 
ing in  a  fog,  the  forms  of  Vernon,  of  Deem- 
ing, and  another  form,  small,  black,  and  cring- 
ing, the  form  of  a  dog. 

"P'f!"  I  said  to  myself.  "  Am  I  going 
to  be  the  slave  of  a  too  sensitive  imagina- 
tion? " 

And  I  resolutely  began  to  think  of  pleasant 
things,  of  the  friends,  of  the  amusements,  of 
the  occupations  that  would  solace  me.  Yet, 
when  I  reached  Albemarle  Street,  I  was 
heavy-hearted,  and  all  that  day  and  the  next 
my  depression  persisted.  Even  a  cheerful 
lunch  with  Vernon  at  Claridge's  and  the  re- 
newal of  many  old  acquaintanceships  failed 
to  restore  me  to  my  normal  temper. 

A  week  passed  by,  and  I  had  not  seen 
Deeming.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  what 
had  become  of  him,  when  I  received  from  him 

46 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

a  note  asking  me  to  dine  with  him  at  the 
Carlton  on  the  following  evening  to  meet 
Vernon.  I  was,  unfortunately,  already  en- 
gaged to  dine  with  some  American  friends 
and  go  to  the  play;  so  I  wrote  to  excuse 
myself,  and  added  this  postscript — 

"  May  your  dinner  banish  your  mutual  mis- 
understanding. Remember  that  it  will  always 
be  a  grief  to  me  if  my  two  friends  are  at  cross- 
purposes." 

The  day  after  the  dinner,  when  I  had  just 
come  in  from  the  club  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  my  servant  announced  "  Doctor 
Deeming,"  and  Deeming  walked  into  the 
room.  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  in  a  condi- 
tion of  unusual  excitement.  We  shook  hands, 
and  directly  my  man  had  gone  out  and  the 
door  was  shut,  Deeming,  who  was  still  stand- 
ing and  who  did  not  seem  to  see  the  chair  I 
offered  to  him,  exclaimed — 

"  Of  course,  you  have  heard  about  Number 
301?" 

"Number  301?  What  the  deuce  do  you 
mean?  "  I  asked. 

"  Number  301,  Wimpole  Street,  the  house 
next  door  to  mine." 

"  What  about  it?  Has  it  been  burgled,  or 
burnt  down,  or  what?  " 

"Burnt  down!  Nonsense!  It's  been  to 
let  for  the  last  three  months.  Yesterday 
morning  I  found  the  board  was  down,  and 
last  night  Vernon  told  me  that  he  has  taken 

47 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

it.     He's  taken  it  as  it  is,  furnished,  and  is 
going  in  at  once." 

I  was  surprised,  and,  I  suppose,  showed  that 
I  was  in  my  face,  for  he  continued — 

"Oh,  then  you  didn't  know!  He  hadn't 
told  you!" 

"  He  has  told  me  nothing." 

"  It's  a  strange  business.     I — I " 

He  began  to  walk  to  and  fro. 

'  Why  should  lie  come  to  live  next  door  to 
me?  Why  should  he ?" 

He  stopped  in  front  of  me. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  where  I  lived?  "  he  said, 
almost  menacingly. 

I  resented  his  tone. 

"  Look  here,  Deeming,"  I  said,  quietly. 
"  If  we  are  to  continue  friends,  there  must 
really  be  an  end  of  all  this  mystery  and  suspi- 
cion about  nothing.  Why  shouldn't  I  tell 
Vernon  where  you  live?  " 

"Did  you  tell  him?" 

"  Certainly.  He  asked  me,  and  of  course 
I  answered.  Are  you  a  criminal  hiding  from 
justice,  and  is  Vernon  a  detective?  Upon  my 
word— 

I  felt  I  was  getting  hot,  and  was  silent.  He 
stood  quite  still,  staring  at  me  for  a  moment 
with  eyes  that  were  almost  fierce.  Then  he 
sat  down  on  a  sofa  a  little  way  from  me,  and 
said  in  a  calmer  voice — 

"  Yes,  of  course  there  was  no  reason.  Still, 
it's  very  odd.  You  must  see  that," 

48 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"What  is  there  odd  in  it?  If  it's  a  good 
house,  why  shouldn't  Vernon  take  it  as  well 
as  anyone  else?  " 

"  It's  a  fairly  good  house." 

He  moved,  and  leaned  towards  me. 

"  Originally,"  he  said,  speaking  slowly, 
"  originally  it  was  one  with  mine.  The  two 
houses  were  thrown  into  one.  That  was  when 
Renold,  the  author,  lived  there.  Afterwards, 
it  was  as  it  is  now.  But  it's  still  almost  like 
one  house. "4 

"How  can  that  be?" 

'  Well,  the  alteration  was  very  flimsily  car- 
ried out,  I  suppose;  for  in  the  one  house  one 
can — I  hope  to  goodness  Vernon  isn't  much 
of  a  musician." 

'  You're  afraid  of  being  disturbed?  " 

"  If  he  plays  the  piano — by  Jove!  " 

He  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Look  out  in  the  papers  very  soon,"  he 
said.  "  I  shall  probably  be  bringing  a  case 
against  him  for  annoyance.  I  can't  stand  a 
hullabaloo  next  door  after  I've  finished  my 
day's  work.  I  want  rest  and  peace.  It's  no 
joke  being  a  successful  physician,  I  can  tell 
you." 

I  laughed  too,  almost  as  unnaturally  as  he 
had. 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  "  you  needn't  be  afraid.  Ver- 
non does  play,  but  I'm  sure,  if  you  ask  him, 
he'll  put  his  piano  against  the  wall  of  the  other 
house,  and  keep  the  windows  shut  when  he  is 

49 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Eractising.  Why  didn't  you  speak  about  it 
ist  night?  " 

"I'll  ask  no  favours  of  Vernon,"  he  said 
sternly. 

Then  he  got  up. 

"I  thought  I'd  just  tell  you,"  he  said. 
"  Now  I  can't  stop.  I've  got  a  patient  to  see." 

He  gave  me  a  feverish  hand,  and  went 
quickly  out  of  the  room. 

While  he  was  with  me,  I  had  endeavoured 
to  make  light  of  his  news,  to  deceive  him  into 
the  belief  that  I  thought  Vernon's  action  a 
chance  one,  but  directly  I  was  alone  I  felt, 
though  less  agitated,  nearly  as  angry  at  this 
aif  air  as  he  did.  It  was  a  strange  business — 
this  pursuit.  [Deeming  had  said  to  me  at 
Dover  that  Vernon  was  a  "  black  fanatic  " ; 
what  if  it  were  so?  What  if  my  friend,  so 
kind,  so  calm,  even  so  unusually  gentle  in  or- 
dinary life,  well  balanced  and  eminently  sane 
in  his  outlook  upon  men  and  affairs,  really 
had  a  "  screw  loose " — to  use  the  current 
phrase?  What  if  the  fate  of  his  dog  had  actu- 
ally affected  his  mind?  I  knew  that  there  are 
men  in  the  world  who  are  sound  on  all  subjects 
except  one.  Touch  upon  that  subject,  and 
they  show  an  eccentricity  that  is  akin  to  mad- 
ness. It  might  be  so  with  Vernon.  I  began 
to  feel  as  if  it  must  be  so,  and  a  great  restless- 
ness, a  great  uneasiness,  beset  me.  Driven 
by  it,  I  caught  up  my  hat,  hurried  down- 
stairs, hailed  a  hansom,  and  went  to  Claridge's. 

50 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

The  hall-porter  informed  me  that  Mr.  Ker- 
steven  was  out. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  where  he  has 
gone? "  I  asked. 

"  No,  sir;  he  didn't  leave  any  word." 

My  cab  was  waiting.  I  jumped  into  it  again 
and  called  to  the  man — 

"  Go  to  301,  Wimpole  Street." 

My  instinct  told  me  that  I  should  find  Ver- 
non  there. 

Night  was  now  falling.  It  was  the  hour 
when,  to  me,  London  presents  its  dreariest  as- 
pect. The  streets  are  not  yet  thronged  with 
those  who,  having  worked  during  the  day,  are 
beginning  to  seek  their  nocturnal  pleasures. 
The  just-lit  lamps  are  waging  a  feeble  com- 
bat with  the  last  fading  rays  of  the  flickering 
twilight.  There  is  a  sense  of  something  closing 
in,  like  a  furtive  enemy,  upon  the  great'  city. 
As  I  neared  Wimpole  Street  I  noticed  that  a 
fine  rain  was  beginning  to  fall.  The  air  was 
damp,  without  freshness,  oppressive.  In  the 
gloom  the  cabman  mistook  the  number  and 
stopped  at  Deeming's  door.  I  got  out  quick- 
ly, paid  and  dismissed  him,  and  was  about  to 
move  on  to  Number  301,  when  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  heard  the  shrill,  short  whine  of  a 
dog.  It  startled  me,  and  I  remained  where  I 
was,  listening  in  the  rain.  The  sound  was  not 
repeated.  I  looked  down  the  dismal  street, 
but  I  saw  no  animal.  I  had  not  been  able  to 
locate  the  noise.  I  glanced  at  Deeming's 

51 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

house.  It  was  dark.  Only  from  a  window  in 
the  area  shone  a  pale  gleam  of  light.  After 
two  or  three  minutes'  hesitation  I  moved  away, 
ascended  the  step  of  Number  301,  and  pressed 
the  electric-bell.  There  was  no  response.  I 
pressed  it  again  and  kept  my  finger  upon  it 
for  at  least  a  minute.  This  time  my  sum- 
mons was  answered,  though  in  a  rather  un- 
orthodox fashion.  A  window  on  the  first-floor 
was  pushed  up,  and  I  saw  a  vague  face  look- 
ing out  at  me  from  above. 

"  Vernon,"  I  said,  "  is  it  you?  " 

No  voice  replied,  but  the  window  was 
shut  down,  and  almost  directly,  through  some 
glass  above  the  hall-door,  I  saw  a  bright  light 
start  up,  and  I  heard  a  faint  movement 
within.  Then  the  door  was  opened  and  Ver- 
non stood  before  me.  He  looked  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"  You?  "  he  said.  "  How  on  earth  did  you 
know  I  was  here?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  it.     Can  I  come  in?  " 

"Yes.    Why  not?" 

But  he  still  stood  in  the  doorway,  blocking 
up  the  entrance. 

"You're  alone?"  he  asked,  rather  suspi- 
ciously. 

"  Quite  alone." 

"  Come  in." 

I  stepped  into  a  hideous  passage,  and  he  at 
once  shut  the  door. 

"  Well?  "  he  said. 

52 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Not  only  his  voice,  but  his  attitude  ques- 
tioned me. 

"  I  went  to  Claridge's.  They  told  me  you 
were  out,  so  I  came  on  here  on  the  chance 
that  you  might  be  looking  over  your  new 
abode." 

"  So  Deeming's  been  with  you! " 

6  Yes,  he  came  in  for  a  minute,  and  men- 
tioned casually  that  you  had  taken  this  house." 

"Oh!  he  mentioned  it  casually,  did  he? 
Well,  come  and  have  a  look  at  it,  won't  you?  " 

"  If  you  don't  mind." 

He  spoke  with  constraint,  and  so  did  I.  In- 
deed, I  had  never  before  felt  so  uncomfortable 
with  Vernon  as  I  did  at  this  moment.  I  did 
not  know  exactly  what  I  had  expected  of  him 
if  I  found  him  at  the  house;  but  it  certainly 
was  not  this  cold  reserve,  as  of  one  who  scarce- 
ly knew  me,  and  to  whom  my  appearance  was 
unwelcome. 

"  It's  not  a  bad  house,"  he  said,  as  we  went 
towards  the  stairs.  "  It  will  do  very  well  for 
me  for  the  season." 

"  You're  in  luck,  then." 

The  words  faltered  on  my  lips  even  while 
I  strove  to  speak  carelessly,  for,  in  truth, 
knowing  Vernon  as  I  did,  knowing  his  house 
in  Rome,  it  was  almost  impossible  not  to  ex- 
press my  amazement  at  his  choice — or,  no, 
perhaps  not  that,  for  I  could  no  longer  be  in 
any  doubt  as  to  why  he  had  rented  Number 
301 — but  it  was  almost  impossible  to  keep  up 

53 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

the  ridiculous  pretence,  forced  upon  me  by  his 
words  and  manner,  that  I  thought  he  had 
rented  Number  301  because  it  had  seemed  to 
him  a  suitable  London  home. 

A  more  dreadful  house  I  have  seldom  seen. 
The  stamp  of  bad  taste,  of  pretentious  middle- 
class  vulgarity,  was  upon  it,  showing  in  every 
detail,  in  the  colouring  of  walls,  in  the  pat- 
terns of  carpets,  in  the  shapes  of  the  furniture, 
in  the  tiles  of  the  hearths,  in  the  very  balus- 
ters and  fire-irons.  The  mirrors  were  painted 
with  bulrushes,  poppies,  tulips.  Cushions  of 
brown  and  sulphur-coloured  plush  lay  upon 
settees  that  imitated  shells.  Chocolate-hued 
portieres  hung  across  double  doors,  upon  which 
were  views  of  Swiss  lakes  and  Alpine  heights. 
There  were  ceilings  that  represented  the  starry 
firmament,  and  there  were  floors  that  sug- 
gested the  vegetable-monger's  shop.  In 
"  cosy  corners,"  thick  with  dusty  draperies, 
nestled  imitation  beetles  and  frogs,  among 
Japanese  fans  and  squads  of  photographs  of 
possibly  well-known  actresses,  roofed  in  by 
open  umbrellas  of  paper,  from  whose  spokes 
hung  gilded  balls. 

And  there  were  yellow  spotted  palms  in 
pots,  wrapped,  like  a  face  distraught  with 
toothache,  in  smothering  cloths  of  bilious  yel- 
low and  of  shrieking  green. 

"  Not  a  bad  house,  is  it?  "  said  Vernon  once 
more,  when  we  had  partially  explored  it.  By 
the  words,  by  his  manner,  I  was  made  at  once 

54 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

to  realise  that  from  this  moment  he  intended  to 
keep  me  out  of  his  confidence.  Why  this  was 
so  I  could  only  try  to  surmise.  As  to  action, 
all  I  could  do  was  to  accept  the  situation  and 
follow  him  in  travesty  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
possible.  It  was  evident  that  Vernon's  sus- 
picions of  my  good  faith  had  been  aroused  by 
my  unexpected  visit,  following  so  immediately 
upon  Deeming's  announcement  of  the  taking 
of  the  house,  and  that  he  had  resolved  to  show 
me  that  he  would  not  permit  any  criticism, 
even  any  discussion  of  his  doings,  however 
strange,  however  hostile  to  'Deeming  they 
must  seem  to  me  in  the  light  of  recent  events. 

"  Not  at  all  bad,"  I  answered. 

We  were  standing  at  the  moment  in  the  ter- 
rible double  drawing-room.  I  carefully  ab- 
stained from  looking  round.  There  was  an 
instant  of,  to  me,  rather  embarrassing  silence. 
Then  Vernon  said — 

'  Well,  shall  we  go  out  together?  It's  get- 
ting rather  late.  You  hadn't  anything  special 
to  say  to  me,  I  suppose? " 

"  No,  nothing.  I  just  called  at  the  hotel, 
and  thought,  as  you  were  out,  I  might  find  you 
examining  your  new  abode." 

Even  as  I  spoke  I  involuntarily  shuddered; 
I  thought  at  the  idea  of  Vernon  living  in 
this  house,  this  inmost  sanctuary  of  Philistin- 
ism. 

"  Why  did  you  do  that?  "  he  said  sharply. 

"What?"  ' 

55 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  Shiver  like  that.  Did  you — did  you  hear 
anything?" 

His  eyes  searched  mine;  and  once  more  I 
saw  the  fierce  light  in  them. 

"Hear?    No.    What  should  I  hear? " 

He  did  not  answer;  but  continued  to  stare 
at  me  as  if  he  doubted  my  words.  Then  he 
said  abruptly: 

"  Let  us  be  off,  then." 

We  descended  the  stairs  and  let  ourselves 
out  into  the  darkness  and  the  rain.  As  we 
passed  Deeming's  house  I  seemed  once  more 
to  hear  the  shrill  whimper  of  a  dog.  I  won- 
dered if  Vernon  had  heard  it  too,  for  he  hesi- 
tated by  the  step  of  the  door,  almost  as  if  he 
thought  of  mounting  it,  and  glanced  swiftly 
down  to  the  area,  from  which  still  shone  the 
ray  of  light.  But  he  said  nothing,  and  we 
walked  on,  and  were  soon  in  the  bustle  of  Ox- 
ford Street. 


56 


AFTER  seeing  Vernon  that  evening  in  No. 
301,  Wimpole  Street,  I  knew  two  things 
for  certain.  One  was  that  he  had  taken  the 
house  in  order  to  be  next  door  to  Deeming; 
the  other,  that  whatever  project  he  might 
have  formed,  whatever  intention  or  desire 
was  driving  him  on  into  a  strange  path,  he 
did  not  mean  me  to  know  of  it  through  him. 
I  was  to  be  shut  out  from  his  confidence. 

This  fact,  while  it  irritated  me,  also  relieved 
me.  It  rendered  my  position  as  the  friend  of 
both  men  more  tenable  than  it  could  have  been 
had  Vernon  confided  in  me.  Now,  if  at  any 
time  Deeming  were  suspicious  of  me,  I  should 
be  able  to  confront  him  with  the  complacency 
of  a  complete  innocence,  whereas  hitherto  I 
had  more  than  once  experienced  the  discom- 
fort of — I  hope  I  may  say  it  without  offence 
—an  honourable  man  who  is  forced  by  cir- 
cumstance to  practise  a  mild  deceit.  This  was 
a  relief. 

Nevertheless,  I  did  feel  both  irritation  and 
surprise  at  Vernon's  attitude  towards  me.  It 
seemed  to  throw  a  chill  over  our  friendship. 
If  he  had  never  spoken  to  me  of  Deeming  and 
his  black  spaniel,  the  matter  would  not  have 
troubled  me,  but  a  confidence  begun  and  then 
abruptly  discontinued  surely  implies  that  one's 

57 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

friendship  is  doubted.  I  could  no  longer  feel 
quite  at  ease  when  I  was  with  Vernon.  A  dark 
and  cringing  shadow  separated  us. 

Vernon  moved  into  his  dreadful  house  two 
days  after  I  had  first  seen  it.  I  naturally  ex- 
pected that,  being  a  rich  man,  he  would  im- 
mediately begin  to  tear  down  draperies,  to  get 
in  new  furniture,  to  lay  down  carpets  that  did 
not  recall  the  vegetable-monger's,  to  turn  out 
the  frogs  and  the  beetles,  and  to  'do  away  with 
the  paper  umbrellas.  I  was  mistaken.  He 
left  things  much  as  they  were. 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  here  long,"  he 
said. 

"  I  thought  you  had  the  house  on  a  year's 
lease?  "  I  rejoined. 

"  The  owner  wouldn't  let  it  for  a  shorter 
time.  But  I  don't  expect  to  be  here  for  twelve 
months,  or  anything  like  it.  I  may  be  out  of 
it  in  a  month.  Who  knows?  " 

He  glanced  at  me  as  if  he  expected  me  to 
find  some  hidden  meaning  in  his  words,  some 
meaning  which  he  did  not  choose  to  put  before 
me. 

"I'm  not  even  going  to  be  bothered  with  a 
staff  of  servants,"  he  continued.  "  I  shall  only 
have  my  man,  Cragg,  and  one  woman  who  can 
do  all  that  is  necessary  for  me." 

"  Really!  What  does  Cragg  think  of  it?  " 
I  ventured. 

"  Oh,  Cragg  has  been  with  me  for  years  and 
thoroughly  understands  me." 

58 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  knew  that;  I  knew,  too,  that  Cragg  was  a 
rare  being,  a  confidential  servant  who  was  ab- 
solutely faithful.  But,  still,  Cragg  was  unac- 
customed to  such  a  peculiar  kind  of  "  rough- 
ing it "  as  was  now  in  prospect. 

"  I  hope  you'll  be  comfortable,"  I  said,  rath- 
er lamely. 

"  Oh,  yes.  Of  course,  I  don't  intend  to  en- 
tertain here.  I  shall  imitate  Deeming.  I  shall 
exercise  all  my  hospitality  in  restaurants.  The 
Englishman's  house  is  more  than  ever  his 
castle  since  the  restaurant  came  into  fashion." 

And  he  laughed. 

"  But  perhaps,  now  I'm  next  door,  Deem- 
ing may  ask  me  in  sometimes  in  the  evening," 
he  said.  "  We  ought  to  be  neighbourly." 

Something  in  his  voice,  as  he  said  the  last 
words,  turned  me  cold.  I  felt  quite  sure,  for 
the  first  time,  that  hatred  was  blazing  in  his 
heart,  hatred  against  Deeming.  Of  course, 
I  could  not  speak  of  my  new  certainty  now 
that  I  was  confronted  by  his  reserve,  but  a 
sudden  idea  sprang  up  within  my  brain.  There 
was  one  way,  and  one  way  only,  of  brushing 
aside  this  spider's-web  of  suspicion  and  in- 
trigue, which  was  being  woven  day  by  day,  and 
it  was  this.  If  I  could  only  ascertain  for  my- 
self, and  prove  to  Vernon,  that  the  mysterious 
black  spaniel  was  happy  as  had  been  his 
"  Whisper,"  well-cared- for,  well-loved,  these 
two  men  who  were  at  secret  enmity  would 
doubtless  at  once  be  reconciled,  and  I  should 

59 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

no  longer  have  to  endure  the  vexation  of  be- 
ing on  uneasy  terms  with  both.  Vernon  knew 
me  well  enough  to  know  that  if  I  made  a  sol- 
emn statement  he  could  absolutely  rely  upon 
it.  Deeming  disliked  him,  as  men  generally 
and  naturally  dislike  those  who,  without  good 
reason,  are  suspicious  of  them.  But  though 
he  was  now  cold  and  distant  with  me,  I  could 
not  think  that  he  disliked  me.  Where  Vernon 
would  probably  fail,  I  might  surely  succeed. 
It  was  such  a  simple  matter  after  all.  I  merely 
wanted  to  see  a  dog  with  his  master,  Deeming 
with  his  black  spaniel.  That  could  surely  be 
managed  without  much  difficulty  and  before 
many  days  had  elapsed.  I  said  nothing  to 
Vernon  of  my  project.  Indeed,  I  resolved 
not  to  seek  a  meeting  with  him  until  I  had  ac- 
complished it.  Our  present  intercourse  was 
too  restrained  to  be  particularly  agreeable. 
The  London  season  was  setting  in  and  there 
was  much  to  be  got  through.  I  could  easily 
avoid  Vernon  for  a  few  days  and,  when  I  had 
the  news  I  wanted,  go  to  him  and  put  an  end 
to  a  condition  of  things  at  once  painful  and— 
so  I  called  it  resolutely  to  myself — ridiculous. 

Having  made  up  my  mind,  I  had  only  to 
act.  I  must  see  Deeming's  black  spaniel,  and 
see  him  with  his  master. 

I  began  my  campaign  by  calling  one  even- 
ing at  Deeming's  house  at  an  hour  when  I 
thought  it  probable  that  the  last  sufferer 
would  have  gone.  But  I  had  miscalculated 

60 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

his  popularity  as  a  doctor.  His  extremely  thin 
and  sympathetic  butler  informed  me  in  a  whis- 
pering voice  that  the  waiting-room  was  still 
thronged  with  anxious  patients. 

'  When  is  he  free?  "  I  inquired. 

"  He  is  engaged  all  day,  Sir,  at  this  season 
of  the  year." 

"  Does  he  never  get  out  for  a  breath  of 
air?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Sir,  when  he  drives  out  to  the  hos- 
pital." 

"  And  on  a  Sunday,  I  suppose.  No  doubt" 
— I  tried  to  make  my  voice  very  natural  and 
careless  at  this  point— "  he  goes  out  on  a 
Sunday  if  it's  fine,  to  give  the  dog  a  run, 
eh?" 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  butler's  pale  face 
slightly  twisted  as  I  said  the  last  words,  as  if 
he  made  a  sudden  effort  not  to  show  in  it  some 
expression  which  would  have  betrayed  a  feel- 
ing; as  if  he  suppressed,  perhaps,  a  smile,  or 
concealed  a  knowing  leer. 

'  The  Doctor's  generally  shut  up  on  a  Sun- 
day, writing,  Sir,"  he  murmured,  "  or  pursu- 
ing his  researches." 

"Oh!" 

There  seemed  nothing  more  to  be  done 
just  then,  and  as  I  saw  a  patient  coming  out 
and  looking  for  his  hat  in  the  hall,  I  went 
away. 

That  evening  I  wrote  to  Deeming,  telling 
him  I  had  called  to  see  if  I  could  persuade  him 

61 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

to  take  a  stroll,  as  I  was  sure  his  health  needed 
some  rest,  air,  and  relaxation. 

"  Will  you  come  for  a  walk  in  Regent's 
Park  some  Sunday  morning? "  I  ended,  re- 
gardless of  the  butler's  information. 

He  answered,  by  return,  that  he  would 
come,  if  I  liked,  on  the  following  Sunday.  I 
replied,  fixing  the  hour,  and  saying  I  would 
call  for  him.  This  done,  I  went  out  and — 
bought  a  dog. 

It  was  a  gay  fox-terrier,  young,  full  of 
abounding  life,  and  quite  ready  to  attach  it- 
self to  anyone  who  was  kind  to  it.  When  Sun- 
day arrived,  it  was  already  devoted  to  me,  and 
gleefully  accompanied  me  to  Wimpole  Street 
to  fetch  Deeming  for  the  promised  walk. 
While  I  rang  the  bell  it  squatted  on  the  step, 
wagging  its  short  tail,  and  looking  eagerly  ex- 
pectant. The  butler  opened  the  door. 

"  The  Doctor  is  quite  ready,  Sir,"  he  said, 
when  he  saw  me.  "  Will  you  step  in?  " 

Suddenly  he  caught  sight  of  the  dog,  who 
had  jumped  up  when  the  door  was  opened, 
and  was  evidently  preparing  for  explora- 
tion. 

"  Is  that  your  dog,  Sir?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  think  the  Doctor Get  back, 

you  little  beast!" 

The  last  exclamation  came  in  a  voice  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  whispering  one  I  was  accus* 
tomed  to  that  I  could  hardly  believe  it  was  the 

62 


"AS  HE  VANISHED,  DEEMING  APPEARED  AT  THE  HALL  DOOR.' 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

butler  who  had  spoken.  At  the  same  moment 
my  dog  dodged  his  outstretched  foot  and  van- 
ished, pattering,  into  the  house. 

"  Call  him  back,  Sir;  call  him  back,  for  the 
Lord's  sake,  or  there'll  be  trouble !  "  exclaimed 
the  butler,  turning  sharply  with  the  evident 
intention  of  trying  to  catch  the  little  culprit. 
But  he  had  no  time  to  act  nor  I  to  call.  Al- 
most as  he  spoke  there  came  from  within  the 
house  the  piercing  cry  of  a  dog  in  pain,  and 
the  fox-terrier  darted  out  of  the  hall,  down 
the  street,  and  disappeared,  yelping  shrilly  as 
he  went,  with  his  ears  set  flat  against  his  head, 
and  his  tail  tucked  down  in  his  back.  As  he 
vanished,  Deeming  appeared  at  the  hall-door. 

"  How  dare  you  let  stray  dogs  into  my 
house?  "  he  said  to  the  butler  in  a  savage  voice. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Sir,"  stammered  the  butler; 
"  but  it  was  this  gentleman's  dog,  and 

"  It  was  your  dog,  was  it?  "  said  Deeming, 
turning  to  me.  "  I  did  not  know  you  had  a 
dog." 

I  was  feeling  so  angry  that  I  could  hardly 
trust  myself  to  speak. 

"  Certainly  it's  mine,"  I  said  curtly.  "  I 
must  go  and  find  it." 

And  without  another  word  I  walked  away 
down  the  street.  I  could  not  discover  the  dog. 
Its  terror  had  evidently  been  so  great  that  it 
had  fled  blindly  and  far.  From  that  day  to 
this  I  have  never  seen  it  or  heard  anything  of 
it.  When  it  rushed  out  of  Deeming's  house  it 

63 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

rushed  out  of  my  life.  Having  failed  to  find 
it,  after  walking  some  distance,  I  gave  up  the 
search  and  stood  still.  The  natural  thing,  I 
suppose,  would  have  been  to  retrace  my  steps 
to  Wimpole  Street,  where  Deeming  was  wait- 
ing for  me.  But  this  I  did  not  do.  I  felt 
that  I  could  not  do  it.  An  invincible  re- 
pulsion against  Deeming's  society  had  come 
into  my  heart.  When  I  thought  of  him  I  saw 
the  fox-terrier  fleeing,  with  his  ears  set  back 
against  his  head;  I  heard  the  yelping  of  a 
dog. 

I  stood,  therefore,  for  a  moment,  and  then 
walked  home  to  Albemarle  Street. 

I  had  bought  the  dog  in  order  to  find  out, 
if  possible,  how  Deeming  was  with  animals, 
how  they  comported  themselves  towards  him. 
Secondarily  I  had  thought  of  using  the  dog  as 
a  pretext  for  introducing  the  subject  of  the 
black  spaniel.  I  had  meant,  when  Deeming 
came  out,  to  point  to  my  dog  and  suggest  that, 
as  I  had  mine  with  me  for  the  walk,  he  should 
bring  out  his. 

Well,  my  curiosity  had  surely  been  satisfied. 
I  had  not,  it  is  true,  seen  the  mysterious  black 
spaniel;  but  I  could  hardly  remain  in  doubt  as 
to  Deeming's  attitude  towards  pet  animals. 
The  expression  upon  his  face  as  he  came  out 
from  the  hall  had  been  ferocious.  Vernon  was 
right.  Deeming  was  a  cruel  man. 

As  I  realised  that,  I  began  to  wonder  more 
64 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

about  the  black  spaniel.  Why  should  such  a 
man  keep  a  pet — a  man,  too,  who  was  so  in- 
cessantly occupied  that  he  had  no  time  for 
amusement,  for  almost  any  relaxations?  And 
why  had  the  butler — for  I  now  felt  sure  that 
I  had  seen  his  face  contorted  for  an  instant  on 
the  evening  when  I  had  spoken  to  him  of  the 
black  spaniel — why  had  the  butler  felt  such 
amazement,  or  bitter  contempt,  or  sardonic 
amusement,  when  I  had  alluded  to  the  possi- 
bility of  Deeming  giving  the  black  spaniel  a 
run? 

It  almost  began  to  seem  to  me  just  then  as 
if  the  black  spaniel  were  a  baleful  chimera, 
like  the  creation  of  a  madman's  brain,  a  noth- 
ingness that  yet  can  govern,  can  terrify,  can 
cause  tragic  events  and  lead  to  bitterness  and 
crime.  Who  had  ever  seen  this  creature? 
Where  was  it,  in  what  place  of  concealment? 
Did  it  ever  come  forth  into  the  light  of  day? 
I  longed  to  know  something  of  it,  of  its  exist- 
ence in  that  house,  of  its  relations  with  its 
master. 

Perhaps  Vernon  knew  or  would  know.  He 
lived  next  door.  He  had  gone  there  to  dis- 
cover; of  that  I  was  sure.  He  watched  at  his 
window  to  see  the  spaniel  let  out.  He  listened 
at  his  wall  at  night,  perhaps,  to  hear  its  whin- 
ing. 

Perhaps  Vernon  knew  or  would  know. 

And  when  he  knew,  would  he  tell  me? 
.    65 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

In  the  afternoon  of  that  day  I  received  a 
note  from  Deeming— 

I  waited  for  you  to  come  back  for  an  age.  What  was 
the  matter?  I  am  very  sorry  about  your  dog.  The  fact 
is  I  am  not  very  well  and  in  a  nervous  condition,  and  it 
startled  me  to  come  suddenly  upon  it  in  the  dimly  lighted 
hall.  Let  me  know  when  we  can  meet. 

P.  D. 

That  was  the  note.  I  read  it  several  times 
before  I  threw  it  into  the  waste-paper  basket. 
But  I  did  not  answer  it.  I  felt  that  I  did  not 
want  to  meet  Deeming  again  for  some  time. 

I  felt  that.  Fate  willed  it  that  I  should 
never  look  upon  him  again  as  mortal  man. 
Within  two  days  from  that  time  I  was  called 
to  the  North  of  England  by  the  serious  illness 
of  my  dear  mother,  who  lived  in  Cumberland. 
And  there  I  remained  until  she  died.  Her 
death  took  place  on  the  twenty-seventh  of 
June.  Her  funeral  was  three  days  later.  Af- 
ter it  was  over  I  returned  to  the  house  where  I 
had  been  born,  where  I  was  now  quite  alone 
with  the  servants.  I  had  to  wind  up  many  af- 
fairs, to  put  many  things  in  order,  to  sort  and 
examine  papers  and  pay  off  some  of  the  house- 
hold. Despite  my  grief  I  was  obliged  to  be 
busy,  to  be  practical.  For  several  days  I  was 
so  much  occupied  that  I  did  not  look  at  a  news- 
paper. I  even  set  aside  the  letters  that  came 
by  the  post — letters  of  condolence,  I  felt  sure 
they  were,  most  of  them — wishing  to  read 

66 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

them  and  answer  them  all  together  when  I  had 
leisure,  and  felt  less  miserable  and  deserted, 
and  more  able  to  take  an  interest  in  such  af- 
fairs as  were  not  actually  forced  upon  me. 

At  last  one  evening  I  had  got  through  ev- 
erything. I  had  dined,  and  was  sitting  alone 
in  the  drawing-room,  where  my  mother  had  al- 
ways sat,  feeling  really  almost  as  if  I  dwelt  in 
a  world  unpeopled,  or  peopled  only  by  the 
spectres  of  those  who  once  had  lived,  when  a 
servant  came  in  with  the  last  post.  There  were 
no  letters,  only  two  or  three  papers  from  Lon- 
don. Without  interest,  merely  to  do  some- 
thing, I  tore  the  paper  covering  from  one  and 
unfolded  it.  My  eyes  fell  at  once  upon  the 
following  paragraph — 

As  so  many  rumours  have  been  put  into  circulation  with 
regard  to  the  lamented  decease  of  Dr.  Peter  Deeming, 
which  took  place  on  the  30th  of  June,  we  are  glad  to  be 
able  to  state  authoritatively  that  the  actual  cause  of  death 
was  blood-poisoning,  which  was,  it  seems,  set  up  by  the 
bite  pf  a  dog.  Doctor  Deeming,  like  many  other  emi- 
nent medical  men,  while  solicitous  for  the  health  of 
others,  was  singularly  careless  about  his  own.  The  bite 
was  severe,  but  he  took  little  heed  of  it,  although  he  had 
the  dog,  which  was  a  pet,  destroyed.  He  has  now  paid 
the  penalty  of  his  regrettable  carelessness,  and  society  is 
the  poorer.  For  no  West  End  physician  was  more  trusted 
and  esteemed  by  his  patients  than  Dr.  Deeming. 

The  paper  dropped  from  my  hand. 
So  Deeming  and  the  black  spaniel  were 
dead!    And  each  had  destroyed  the  other! 

67 


PART  II— THE  RESURRECTION 
VI 

PETER  DEEMING  died  on  the  thirtieth  of  June, 
in  the  year  1900.  In  June  of  the  following 
year,  as  I  was  walking  past  the  Knightsbridge 
Barracks,  I  met  Vernon  strolling  along  in  the 
sunshine,  with  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth. 
When  he  saw  me,  he  stopped,  took  my  hand, 
and  clasped  it  warmly. 

"Back  at  last!  "he  said. 

1  Yes.  I  only  arrived  yesterday.  Did  you 
winter  in  Rome,  as  usual?  " 

"  No.    I've  not  been  out  of  England." 

"Good  Heavens!"  I  exclaimed.  "You 
don't  mean  to  say  you've  been  facing  the  Lon- 
don fogs  while  I've  been  in  Africa  and  Sicily?" 

He  nodded. 
'  What  can  have  been  your  reason?  " 

He  put  his  arm  through  mine. 

"  Let's  go  into  the  Park,"  he  said.  "  We'll 
take  a  stroll,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

We  turned  into  the  Park  by  the  nearest 
gate,  and  walked  gently  along  under  the  trees. 
It  was  a  strangely  radiant  day  for  London — 
a  day  that  seemed  full  of  hope  and  gaiety. 
Many  children  were  about  laughing,  playing, 
calling  to  each  other.  Poor  people  basked  in 

68 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

the  sunshine,  stretched  upon  the  short  grass. 
Carriages  rolled  by,  drawn  by  fine  horses. 
In  the  trees  the  birds  were  singing,  as  inno- 
cently as  they  sing  in  retired  country  places. 
And  I  felt  glad  and  at  ease.  It  was  pleasant 
to  be  with  Vernon  once  more,  pleasant  to  be 
once  more  in  my  own  land  among  my  own 
people. 

'  Well,  Vernon?  "  I  said. 

"  First,"  he  answered,  "  you  must  tell  me 
something.  You  must  tell  me  why  you  left 
England  after  the  death  of  your  mother, 
without  coming  to  say  good-bye  to  me." 

"  I  felt  upset,  broken  down,  as  if  I  didn't 
want  to  see  anyone,  as  if  I  wanted  to  get 
away  and  be  alone  among  new  scenes  and  peo- 
ple who  were  strangers." 

"  That  was  it?  " 

I  heard  the  doubt  in  his  voice,  and  added— 

"  There  was  another  reason,  too,  an  under- 


reason." 


'Yes?" 

"  That  sudden  death  of  poor  Deeming,  com- 
ing just  after  my  mother's,  upset  my  nerves, 
I  think.  It  made  me  feel  as  if — as  if  I  had 
been  cruel.  It  filled  me  with  regret." 

"  Cruel!    I  don't  understand." 

"  No.  How  could  you?  But  when  a  man's 
dead,  one  thinks  very  differently  about  him 
often.  And  I  had  been  suspicious  of  Deem- 
ing. At  the  end,  indeed,  I  had  been  unfriend- 

iy." 

69 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  am  quite  in  the  dark,"  he  said,  rather 
coldly,  I  thought. 

I  explained  to  him  what  I  meant.  I  told 
him  of  my  last  meeting  with  Deeming,  of  the 
incident  of  the  fox-terrier,  of  Deeming's  note 
to  me,  of  how  I  had  left  it  unanswered.  He 
listened  with  a  profound  attention. 

"  When  I  read  of  his  death  in  the  paper  I 
wished  I  had  answered  his  note,"  I  concluded. 
"  I  wished  it  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  And  I 
regretted  bitterly  that  the  last  weeks  of  our 
intercourse  had  been  clouded  by  suspicion,  by 
misunderstanding." 

"Ah!" 

His  voice  still  sounded  cold.  After  a  mo- 
ment he  said : 

"  And  you  didn't  come  to  see  me  be- 
cause— 

'  Well,  you  had  been  mixed  up  with  my  sus- 
picion of  Deeming,  and 

"  Now  I  understand.  You  felt  a  very  nat- 
ural longing  to  be  away  from  all  that  recalled 
sadness  to  you,  that  might  deepen  your  grief 
or  serve  to  irritate  your  nerves." 

"  I  suppose  that  was  it.  I  went  right  away. 
I  wanted  to  forget,  to  escape  out  of  a  dark 
cloud  into  a  clear  atmosphere.  But  you? 
Why  have  you  been  in  London  all  this  time?  " 

"I've  been  working." 

"Working!    You?" 

"  Even  I— idler,  dilettante.'' 

"  Music? " 

70 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I've  been  working  with  Arthur  Gern- 
ham." 

"For  the  animals?" 

"  Exactly.  For  our  brothers  and  sisters 
who  do  not  speak  our  language.  I've  been 
writing  pamphlets,  I've  been  gathering  sub- 
scriptions, I've  been  stirring  people  up,  and  by 
doing  so  I've  been  stirring  myself  up,  my 
slothful,  sluggish,  unpractical  self." 

"Wonderful!" 

"  Isn't  it?  Do  you  know  that  I've  toured 
the  United  Kingdom  giving  lectures  on  the 
subject  of  man's  duty  to  the  animals,  that  I've 
helped  to  form  a  league  of  kindness?  Luttrell, 
I'm  a  busy  man  now,  and  I  am  an  enthusias- 
tic man." 

While  he  spoke  his  animation  had  been 
growing,  and  as  he  ended  his  voice  was  full  of 
energy. 

"  And  when  did  the  impulse  come  to  you  to 
begin  this  new  life?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  can  tell  you  the  very  day,"  he  said.  "  It 
was  on  June  the  30th  of  last  year." 

"  June  the  30th!  "  I  said.  "  Why,  that  was 
the  day  that  Deeming  died!  " 

"  Well,  it  was  on  that  day." 

I  looked  at  him  sharply.  I  had  never 
yet  heard  any  details  connected  with  the 
accident  that  had  brought  about  Deeming's 
illness  and  so  caused  his  death.  I  wondered 
if  Vernon  knew  any.  He  had  lived  next 
door.  I  longed  to  ask  him,  but  something, 

71 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

some  inner  voice  of  my  nature,  advised  me  not 
to. 

"  Is  Gernham  a  good  fellow?  "  I  said  care- 
lessly. 

"  A  splendid  fellow.    You  must  know  him." 

"  As  you  have  changed  so  much,"  I  contin- 
ued, "  have  you  altered  that  resolution  of 
yours?  " 

"What  resolution?" 

"  Never  to  make  another  animal  happy  as 
you  made  your  spaniel,  Whisper,  happy?  " 

"  Ah,  that — no !  I  could  never  have  anoth- 
er pet.  I  suffered  too  much  from  my  affec- 
tion, Luttrell.  I  am  resolved  not  to  suffer 
again  in  that  way.  The  mountains  may  fall, 
but  I  shall  never  keep  another  dog." 

He  spoke  with  a  decision  that  carried  con- 
viction. At  that  moment  I  should  have  been 
ready  to  stake  my  entire  fortune  on  his 
sticking  to  his  assertion  and  backing  it  up 
by  his  acts.  If  anyone  had  come  to  me 
that  night  and  said,  "  Your  friend  Vernon 
has  just  bought  a  dog  and  taken  it  home  to 
live  with  him,"  I  should  have  laughed,  and 
answered  in  polite  terms,  "  You're  a  liar." 
But  one  cannot  deny  the  evidence  of  one's 
own  eyes. 

Now  this  is  exactly  what  occurred. 

While  we  walked  along  beneath  the  trees, 
not  very  far  from  the  Statue  of  Achilles,  I 
saw  in  the  distance  a  man  approaching  us,  lead- 
ing a  number  of  dogs  by  strings  and  carrying 

72 


THAT    DOG   THERE,''    SAID    VERNON;    "HOW    LONG   HAVE    YOU 
HAD  HIM?" 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

a  couple  of  puppies  under  his  arms.  He  wore 
a  fur  cap  and  earrings,  a  short,  loud-pat- 
terned coat  with  tails,  and  a  pair  of  very  tight 
trousers.  As  he  drew  near  I  saw  that  among 
the  dogs  who  accompanied  him  there  was  a 
fine  black  spaniel. 

"  Here  comes  a  choice  assortment  of  dumb 
friends,"  I  said  to  Vernon. 

"  Yes." 

I  saw  him  looking  at  the  dogs,  which  were 
sniffing  the  air,  and  pulling  at  their  leads  in 
the  endeavour  to  investigate  delicious  smells. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  short,  just  as  the  man  was 
passing  us.  At  the  same  moment  I  saw  the 
black  spaniel  shrink  back  and  cower  down 
against  the  ground,  pressing  his  broad,  flap- 
ping ears  against  his  head. 

'  What  is  it,  Vernon?  "  I  said. 

He  did  not  reply.  He  was  staring  at  the 
spaniel.  The  owner  of  the  dogs  saw  a  possi- 
ble purchaser,  and  at  once,  in  a  soft  and  very 
disagreeable  voice,  began  to  enumerate  their 
merits. 

"  H'sh!  "  Vernon  hissed  at  him. 

The  man  stopped  in  astonishment. 
'That  dog  there,"  said  Vernon,  pointing 
to  the  black  spaniel,  which  was  still  shrinking 
down,  and  pulling  back  from  his  lead  in  an  ef- 
fort to  get  away.  "  How  long  have  you  had 
him? " 

"  Ever  since  he  was  baun,  gen'leman,"  re- 

73 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

plied  the  man.  "  'E's  the  gentlenist,  the  best- 
mannered  dawg  as  hiver " 

"  How  old  is  he?    What's  his  age?  " 

"  Just  upon  a  year,  Sir,  a  year  Vll  be  this 
very  selfsame  month.  'E  was  one  of  as  fine  a 
litter  o'  pups  as " 

"  You  bred  him?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"A  year  old,  is  he?" 

"  Just  upon,  Sir.  The  thirtieth's  the  day, 
Sir — the  thirtieth  of  this  selfsame  month. 
Law  bless  you,  I  knows  the  birthdays  of  hivery 
dawg  as  hiver " 

'  What's  his  price? " 

The  man  licked  his  lips,  and  I  saw  a  gleam 
in  his  small  eyes. 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  dunno  as  I'm  dispoged  to  part 
with  'im.  You  see,  I  gets  to  love " 

"How  much?" 

The  tone  was  sharp.  The  words  came  al- 
most like  a  pistol-shot. 

"  Ten  puns,  Sir,"  said  the  man.  "  I  should 
say,  fifteen  puns,  Sir." 

"  I'll  give  you  twelve." 

"  I  reely  couldn't  tike  it,  Sir.  The  dawg's 
the  very  happle  of " 

"  There's  my  address — 301,  Wimpole 
Street."  He  gave  the  man  his  card.  "  Bring 
the  dog  there  at  six  o'clock  this  evening,  and 
you  shall  have  twelve  pounds,  not  a  penny 
more.  Good-day." 

74 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

I'll  be  there,  Sir.    You  can  trust  me,  you 


can- 


We  walked  on.  As  we  did  so,  the  spaniel 
whimpered,  ran  to  his  master,  and  fawned 
about  his  legs  as  if  demanding  protection. 

For  several  minutes  neither  Vernon  nor  I 
said  a  word.  I  was  in  amazement.  What  had 
just  happened  may  seem  to  some  a  very  small 
matter.  To  me  it  seemed  extraordinary,  mys- 
terious, even — I  could  not  tell  why — horrible. 
There  had  been  something  peculiar  in  Ver- 
non's  attitude,  in  his  face,  while  he  stood  look- 
ing at  the  spaniel,  something  fatal  that  had 
affected  my  nerves.  Then  my  wonder  was 
naturally  great  that  such  a  man  should  thus 
abruptly  go  back  from  his  word.  And  the 
spaniel's  cringing  attitude  of  terror  when 
Vernon  had  gazed  at  him,  had  spoken  to  his 
master,  was  disagreeable  to  me,  acutely  dis- 
agreeable in  the  remembrance  of  it !  It  seemed 
to  me  very  strange  and  unnatural  that  such  an 
ardent  lover  of  animals  as  Vernon  was  should 
inspire  an  animal  with  fear.  Animals  have  an 
instinct  that  always  tells  them  who  loves  them. 
This  spaniel  was  apparently  without  this  in- 
stinct. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  lack  in  him  that  made 
me  now  think  of  him  with  a  faint  dislike,  even 
a  faint  disgust,  such  as  the  healthy-minded 
feel  when  brought  into  contact  with  anything 
unnatural. 

I  broke  the  silence  first. 
75 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  changeable 
man,"  I  said. 

'  You  mean  that  I  have  changed  my  mind 
about  keeping  a  dog." 

'  Yes,  and  with  such  extraordinary  sudden- 


ness." 


"  I  suppose  it  does  seem  odd,"  he  remarked. 
"  But  who  knows  what  he  will  do?  " 

"  But — what  was  your  reason?  " 

He  looked  at  me,  very  strangely,  I  thought. 

"  A  sudden  impulse,"  he  answered.  "  A 
memory,  perhaps,  moved  me." 

"  The  memory  of  Whisper?  " 

"  Of  Whisper— of  course." 

His  voice  seemed  to  me  just  then  as  strange 
as  his  face.  Perhaps  seeing  that  I  still  won- 
dered, he  added — 

'  That  spaniel  appeared  to  be  nervous,  terri- 
fied. Perhaps  that  man  is  cruel  to  it." 

"  Oh,  but "  I  began,  and  stopped. 

'  What  is  it?" 

"  You  didn't  think — it  seemed  to  me  that  it 
was  you  who  inspired  the  dog  with  fear." 

"I!"  He  laughed.  "  My  dear  fellow,  a 
dog-lover  like  myself  cannot  inspire  a  dog  with 
fear.  You  must  be  mistaken.  Animals  al- 
ways know  who  loves  them." 

"  Yes.    It's  very  strange,"  I  murmured. 

"What  is  strange?"  he  asked,  in  rather  a 
hard  voice. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — nothing,"  I  answered 
evasively.  "  Here  we  are  at  the  gate." 

76 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

4  Yes.    Well,  you  are  coming  to  see  me? " 

"  Of  course.     You  are  still  in  that  house?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  It  suits  me.  When  will  you 
come? " 

'  Whenever  you  like." 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  making  patterns 
with  his  stick  on  the  pavement  and  looking 
down.  Then  he  glanced  up  at  me. 

"  Come  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  this  after- 
noon at  half -past  five,  will  you?  "  he  said. 

I  immediately  thought  of  the  man  with  the 
earrings  and  the  fur  cap.  Then  I  was  to  see 
the  transfer  of  the  black  spaniel. 

"  I'll  come,"  I  answered. 

"Right!" 

Vernon  nodded  and  walked  away  slowly  in 
the  direction  of  Hamilton  Place. 


77 


VII 

AT  a  quarter  past  five  that  day  I  started 
for  Wimpole  Street,  filled  with  a  sensation 
of  strong  curiosity,  for  which,  in  mental  de- 
bate with  myself,  I  could  not  quite  satisfac- 
torily account.  It  was  a  very  ordinary  mat- 
ter, surely,  this  selling  and  buying  of  a  dog. 
Why,  then,  did  it  seem  to  me  an  affair  of 
importance?  I  asked  myself  that  question 
while  I  waited.  The  only  answer  I  could  find 
was  that  the  dog  was  a  black  spaniel,  and  that 
before  the  sad  death  of  my  friend  Deeming  a 
black  spaniel,  the  creature  that  had  caused  the 
tragedy,  had  mysteriously  complicated,  and 
indeed  altered,  my  pleasant  relations  both  with 
him  and  with  Vernon.  But  all  that  was  a  year 
ago.  The  past  does  not  return,  and  therefore 
it  was  absurd  to  be — to  be — what?  What  was 
really  the  exact  nature  of  the  emotion  that  now 
beset  me?  Had  I  been  strictly  truthful  with 
myself  I  should,  perhaps,  have  called  it  appre- 
hension. But  we  are  not  always  strictly  truth- 
ful even  with  ourselves.  I  think  that  day  I 
named  it  nervousness.  I  was  nervous,  out  of 
sorts,  a  little  bit  depressed.  Vernon's  volte- 
face  had  surprised  me.  The  dog's  cringing 
fear  had  made  an  unpleasant  impression  upon 
me.  And  so,  now,  as  I  drew  near  to  Wimpole 

78 


THE    BLACK   SPANIEL 

Street  I  was  slightly  strung1  up.  That  was 
the  long  and  short  of  it. 

In  some  such  fashion  I  think  I  spoke  to  my- 
self, explanatorily,  falsely. 

When  I  turned  into  Wimpole  Street  the 
image  of  poor  Deeming  was  very  present  in 
my  mind,  and  I  could  scarcely  believe  that  he 
did  not  still  inhabit  the  house  to  which  I  had 
come  that  Sunday  morning.  I  wondered  who 
lived  there  now,  who  was  Vernon's  neighbour; 
and  when  I  reached  the  house  I  looked  towards 
it  with  a  sad  curiosity,  which  quickly  changed 
to  surprise.  The  house  was  transformed. 
Where  once  had  been  a  doorstep  there  was 
now  an  area  railing.  The  front  door  had  van- 
ished. In  its  place  was  a  window,  with  a  box 
in  which  roses  and  geraniums  were  blooming. 
In  a  moment  I  realised  what  had  happened. 
Formerly  the  two  houses — Nos.  300  and  301 — 
had  been  one  house.  Since  I  had  been  there 
they  had  once  more  been  thrown  together. 
Vernon,  then,  was  living  now  in  the  house 
that  had  been  -Deeming's.  As  I  grasped  this 
fact,  Vernon  appeared  at  a  window  of  what 
had  been  the  second  house.  Seeing  me,  he 
smiled  and  waved  his  hand.  Before  I  could 
ring,  the  door  was  opened  by  Cragg,  his  faith- 
ful man. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  again,  Sir,"  said  Cragg, 
with  a  respectful  bow  which  he  had  learnt,  I 
think,  in  Italy. 

He  had  several  little  foreign  ways,  but  was 
79 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

extremely  English  in  appearance — calm,  solid, 
neat,  and  closely  shaven. 

I  returned  his  greeting  and  stepped  in. 

"  Ah,"  I  said,  looking  round.  "  So  it's  all 
changed." 

"Yes,  Sir.  After  Doctor  Deeming's  death 
we  got  rid  of  the  old  stuff,  and  Mr.  Kersteven 
bought  the  Doctor's  house  and  threw  the  two 
houses  into  one.  It's  more  suitable  now." 

"  It  was  awful  before." 
'  Well,  Sir,  it  was  scarcely  to  Mr.  Ker- 
steven's  taste.     We  rather  roughed  it  for  a 
time,  Sir." 

He  took  my  hat  and  stick  and  showed  me 
upstairs  into  a  charming  drawing-room,  in 
which  I  at  once  recognised  many  beautiful 
things  from  Vernon's  house  in  Rome.  Here 
Vernon  met  me  with  an  outstretched  hand. 

"  By  Jove,  what  a  transformation !  "  I  ex- 
claimed. 

"  To  be  sure,  you  haven't  seen  it  since— 

"  Since  the  frogs  and  the  beetles  and  the 
Japanese  umbrellas  were  turned  out.  No. 
And  so  now  you've  got  Deeming's  house  too?" 

"  Yes.  I  have  joined  the  two  together,  but 
I  use  his  chiefly  for  my  work  in  connection 
with  our  dumb  friends." 

"Oh!" 

His  voice  was  significant  in  that  last  sen- 
tence, and  I  realised  that  in  him  imagination 
was  often  the  guide,  leading  him  strangely, 
dominating  him  powerfully. 

80 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Tea  was  ready,  and  we  sat  down. 

Giving  expression  to  my  thought,  I  said, 
"  Strange  that  you  should  be  living  in  Deem- 
ing's  house." 

<  Why  so?" 

"  Oh,  well,  you  were  antagonists,  weren't 
you?" 

"  Could  the  difference  between  us  be  called 
antagonism? "  he  asked,  pouring  out  the 
tea. 

*  Wasn't  it?    Once  Deeming  told  me  that 
he  knew— 

I  hesitated. 

;'Knew  what?" 

'  Knew  that  you  hated  him." 

"  Really.     Did  he  say  that?  " 

"  Was  it  true?  " 

'Why  discuss  it?" 

'  You're  right.  It's  all  over  now.  And  he, 
poor  chap,  has  gone  beyond  the  reach  of 
earthly  love  or  hate." 

He  made  no  rejoinder,  and  I  had  an  odd 
feeling  as  if  he  were  silent  because  I  had  said 
something  with  which  he  did  not  agree;  yet 
that  was  not  possible. 

"  Do  you  think,"  I  said,  to  change  the  sub- 
ject, "  do  you  think  that  fellow  will  come?  " 

'  The  dog-fancier?  Oh,  I  suppose  so.  He 
won't  let  slip  a  chance  of  making  twelve 
pounds.  His  dog  isn't  worth  more  than  six." 

*  Then  why  do  you  give  double?  " 
"  A  caprice." 

81 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  begin  to  think  you  are  a  capricious 
man,"  I  said. 

"  The  dilettante  generally  is." 

He  drew  out  his  watch. 

"  It's  close  upon  six.  That  chap  ought  to 
be  here  in  a  moment.  Ah,  there's  the  bell! 
He's  come,  no  doubt." 

I  was  conscious  of  a  certain  discomfort,  but 
scarcely  knew  its  cause.  Putting  down  my 
cup,  I  sat  listening  intently.  Vernon,  too,  was 
listening.  There  was  in  his  face  an  expres- 
sion of  strained  attention.  When  the  door 
opened  gently,  I  started  and  looked  hastily 
round. 

"Lord  Elyn!"  said  Vernon,  getting  up 
from  his  chair. 

'  Yes.  Glad  to  find  you  at  home.  Hulloa, 
Luttrell!  So  you're  back  at  last!  I  haven't 
seen  you  since  the  death  of  our  poor  friend 
Deeming." 

He  shook  my  hand. 

'  That  was  a  sad  business.  No  one  to  take 
his  place.  No  one  like  him,  is  there?  " 

He  sat  down  and  stretched  his  legs.  I  said 
something  suitable,  but  with  rather  an  uncer- 
tain voice.  This  unexpected  arrival  irritated 
me.  And  yet  I  thoroughly  liked  Lord  Elyn. 
Vernon,  too — I  felt  sure  of  it — was  vexed  by 
his  arrival,  but  he  was  charmingly  courteous, 
though,  in  the  trifling  conversation  that  fol- 
lowed, he  showed  traces  of  absent-mindedness. 
I  knew  he  was  listening  for  the  sound  of  the 

8O 
a 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

bell.  I  knew  he  was  eagerly  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  the  black  spaniel.  Six  o'clock 
struck.  The  hand  of  a  clock  on  the  mantel- 
piece pointed  to  five  minutes,  then  to  ten  min- 
utes past  six.  Vernon  began  to  betray  a  cer- 
tain restlessness,  a  certain  uneasiness.  He 
twice  changed  his  place  in  the  room.  Finally, 
he  got  up  and  remained  standing. 

'  You  are  expecting  someone? "  said  Lord 
Elyn,  looking  at  him  in  some  surprise. 

'  Yes.  The  fact  is  I've  bought  a  dog — or 
named  my  price  for  one — and  he  ought  to  be 
brought  here  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  I'm  very  fond  of  dogs.  Kept  them 
all  my  life.  What  sort  of  animal  is  this  one?  " 

"A  black there's  the  bell!" 

He  broke  off,  went  swiftly  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  looked  out.  As  he  stood  with  his 
back  turned  to  us  I  heard  him  utter  a  low 
exclamation. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Vernon? "  I  asked 
sharply. 

I  had  not  heard  a  word,  but  there  was  a 
thrilling  sound  in  his  voice  which  startled  me. 
I  got  up  also  from  my  chair,  possessed, 
gnawed  by  an  inexplicable  restlessness.  Ver- 
non turned  round  from  the  window.  I  saw 
the  strange  light  in  his  eyes  which  I  had  some- 
times noticed  there  when  he  talked  about  the 
animals  and  their  relation  with  man. 

"  It's  the  spaniel,"  he  said. 

The  words  were  simple  enough,  but  the 

83 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

way  in  which  he  said  them  was  not  simple.  It 
sounded  cruel  and  triumphant. 

Lord  Elyn  looked  more  surprised.  He  also 
got  up. 

'  The  arrival  of  this  dog  seems  quite  an 
event,"  he  said. 

'  Yes,  quite  an  event,"  repeated  Vernon, 
looking  towards  the  door.  "  It's  years  since 
I've  had  a — pet." 

"  If  you  please,  Sir,  there's  a  person  here 
with  a  dog." 

"  I  know.     I  expected  him." 

"  Indeed,  Sir.    Am  I  to  admit  him?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  the  dog,  Sir?    Is  he  to  come  in  too?  " 

"  Of  course.     It's  the  dog  I  want,  not  the 


man." 


Cragg  remained  in  the  doorway,  looking  at 
his  master. 

'What  is  it,  Cragg?"  asked  Vernon. 
"  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter? " 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  don't  see— I  don't,  really— 
how  we  are  ever  going  to  get  that  dog  into 
the  house." 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  said  Vernon. 

On  his  lips  there  was  playing  a  slight  smile. 

"  I  never  see  an  animal  in  such  a  state,  Sir; 
I  really  never  did.  Hark,  Sir!  " 

He  lifted  his  hand.  From  below  there  came 
to  us  the  sound  of  a  long-drawn  howling. 
Again  I  felt  a  cold  chill  go  over  me.  Lord 

84 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Elyn,  too,  was  unpleasantly  affected.  Hd 
shook  his  shoulders,  and  said— 

"Good  God,  what  a  dreadful  noise!  It 
sounds  like  something  being  tortured." 

Vernon  was  still  smiling. 

"  Oh!  "  he  said;  "  it's  only  the  natural  ner- 
vousness of  a  dog  brought  to  a  strange  house 
to  change  one  master  for  another.  Go  along, 
Cragg.  Show  the  man  into  my  study.  I'll 
come  down  in  a  moment." 

Still  looking  very  doubtful,  Cragg  disap- 
peared, shutting  the  door.  We  three  remained 
silent  for  a  moment.  Then  Vernon  said — 

"I'm  afraid  you're  having  a  very  fussy 
visit,  Lord  Elyn.  Do  sit  down.  I'll  go  and 
pay  the  man,  and  be  back  in  a  minute." 

It  was  evident  to  me  that  he  wanted — • 
wanted  ungovernably — to  see  the  dog  brought 
into  the  house.  As  he  stopped  speaking  he 
was  gone.  He  had  almost  darted  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Dear  me  I  "  said  Lord  Elyn.    "  Dear  me." 

He  was  a  delicate,  naturally  nervous  man, 
and  highly  sensitive.  I  could  see  plainly  that 
he  was  upset,  mystified  by  this  affair  of  the 
arrival  of  the  dog.  He  looked  at  me  as  if 
inquiring  of  me  what  it  all  meant. 

"  I  wonder—       '  he  began. 

Then  he  broke  off.    After  a  pause  he  said — 

"  If  the  dog  often  howls  as  he  did 
just  now,  Vernon  won't  have  much  peace.  I 

85 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

never  in  my  life  heard  a  more  distressing  noise, 
eh?" 

"  It  was  very  distressing,"  I  assented. 

Lord  Elyn  did  not  sit  down,  but  went  to 
and  fro  in  the  room  like  one  disturbed. 

"A  most  distressing  noise!"  he  repeated, 
uncomfortably.  "  Most  distressing.  It  really 
almost  sounded  like  a  human  being  in  agony, 
didn't  it? " 

"  Yes,  it  did." 

"  What  sort  of  dog  is  it? "  he  asked  pres- 
ently, standing  before  me.  "  Do  you  know?  " 

"  A  black  spaniel." 

"A  spaniel?  They're  the  most  sensitive 
breed  of  dog  I  know,  intensely  nervous  and 
easily  frightened,  but  very  affectionate.  They 
attach  themselves  in  an  extraordinary  manner 
to  those  who  are  kind  to  them." 

"Hulloa!"  he  exclaimed.  The  door  had 
reopened,  and  Vernon  came  in. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  it's  all  right.  I've  got 
the  dog  for  twelve  pounds." 

'  Where  is  it?  "  said  Lord  Elyn. 

"  Downstairs  in  my  study.  I've  had  to  tie 
him  up  for  the  moment.  Poor  fellow,  he's 
nervous  at  getting  into  a  strange  house." 

"  Let's  have  a  look  at  him,"  said  Lord  Elyn. 

I  saw  that  Vernon  hesitated,  and  thought 
he  was  going  to  refuse  the  request,  natural 
though  it  was.  But  if  he  had  intended  to  do 
so,  he  quickly  changed  his  mind. 

"  Certainly,"  he  said.  "  Come  downstairs. 
86 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

My  study  is  in  the  part  of  the  house  that  once 
belonged  to  'Deeming." 

Lord  Elyn  went  out  of  the  room,  I  fol- 
lowed, and  Vernon  came  last. 

'  To  the  right! "  he  said,  when  we  reached 
the  bottom  of  the  staircase.  "  This  corridor 
unites  the  two  houses." 

We  followed  the  direction  indicated. 

"  Here's  the  study,"  said  Vernon.  "  It's  a 
real  workroom,  dedicated  to  the  cause  of  our 
dumb  friends." 

"The  animals?"  said  Lord  Elyn.  "It 
seems  to  me,  after  this  evening,  that  dumb  is 
scarcely  the  appropriate  adjective  to  apply  to 
them." 

Vernon  laughed.  He  had  his  hand  on  the 
door  of  his  study,  and  was  still  laughing  as 
he 'opened  it. 


VIII 

LORD  ELYN  went  in  first.  I  followed.  The 
study  was,  as  Vernon  had  said,  a  real  work- 
room. There  was  little  furniture  in  it,  and 
what  there  was  was  plain  and  serviceable. 
Near  the  one  window,  which  looked  out  at  the 
back  on  to  the  backs  of  other  houses,  was 
a  large  writing-table  covered  with  documents, 
pamphlets,  magazines,  address-books,  gum- 
bottles,  elastic  bands,  balls  of  string,  a  Rem- 
ington typewriter,  piles  of  paper  bands  for 
fastening  newspapers  and  manuscripts,  etc. 
In  the  midst  of  this  ordered  rummage  stood  a 
cabinet  photograph  of  a  man.  I  did  not 
examine  it  then,  but  I  knew  later  that  it  was 
Arthur  Gernham,  the  notorious  anti-vivisec- 
tionist.  A  few  chairs,  a  thick  Turkey  carpet, 
and  two  revolving  bookcases  completed  the 
furniture.  The  walls  were  tinted  a  dull  red, 
and  there  were  red  curtains  at  the  window. 
There  were  no  pictures  or  ornaments.  On 
the  mantelpiece  stood  a  clock  which  struck  the 
quarter  after  six  as  we  came  in. 

"  Where's  the — oh,  there  he  is!  "  said  Lord 
Elyn. 

The  black  spaniel  was  lying  crouched  upon 
the  floor  in  a  corner  near  the  window,  a  dark 

88 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

patch  against  the  red  of  the  curtain  which 
touched  him.  He  had  been  tied  by  a  piece  of 
cord  to  the  writing-table,  but  had  shrunk  back, 
as  if  in  an  effort  to  escape,  until  he  could  go 
no  farther.  Now  he  lay  with  his  face  turned 
towards  the  door,  motionless,  staring.  When 
we  saw  him  he  did  not  move.  He  only  looked 
at  us. 

He  only  looked  at  us,  I  have  said.  Then 
why  did  Lord  Elyn  stop  short  just  inside  the 
door,  as  if  startled?  Why  did  I  feel  an  almost 
invincible  desire  to  get  out  of  this  room,  even 
out  of  this  house  of  my  friend?  It  must  have 
been  the  violence  of  terror  in  the  dog's  eyes 
contrasted  with  the  absolute  stillness,  the 
stillness  as  of  death,  of  his  body.  Yes,  I  think 
it  must  have  been  that  which  affected  us.  For 
in  violence  there  is  always  contained  the  sug- 
gestion of  intense  activity,  the  suggestion  of 
movement,  and  the  dog's  eyes  conveyed  to  me 
the  feeling  that  his  soul  was  rushing  from  us, 
while  his  body  lay  there  before  us  against  the 
red  curtain  like  a  carven  thing. 

"There  he  is!"  Lord  Elyn  repeated  in  a 
low  voice. 

He  looked  at  me  and  then  at  Vernon.  I 
thought  he  was  going  out  of  the  room,  and  I 
am  sure  he  wanted  to  do  so;  but  he  stood 
where  he  was  in  silence  and  again  looked  to- 
wards the  spaniel. 

4  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  him?  "  asked 
Vernon. 

89 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

The  sound  of  his  voice  perhaps  made  Lord 
Elyn  conscious  that  we  were  behaving  some- 
what absurdly,  that  we  were  almost  huddling 
together,  he  and  I,  beside  the  door.  For  he 
took  a  step — but  only  a  step — forward,  and 
answered,  with  an  evident  effort  to  speak  more 
naturally : 

"  Oh,  he  looks  a  good  specimen.  He's  well 
bred;  I  should  say,  well  bred — yes." 

Again  he  glanced  at  me  as  if  questioning 
me.  All  this  time  the  spaniel  did  not  move, 
but  lay  staring  at  us  with  eyes  full  of  horror. 
His  stillness  appalled  me. 

"  And  what  do  you  think,  Luttrell? "  said 
Vernon. 

It  was  with  a  difficulty  that  was  extraor- 
dinary to  me  that  I  answered  him. 

"  You'll  have  a  lot  of  trouble  with  him,"  I 
said. 

"  Why?  "  said  Vernon  quickly. 

"  Why?  Why,  he's  evidently  a  very  ner- 
vous dog.  I  should  think  it'll  take  time  to 
reconcile  him  with  his  new  home  and  his  new 
master." 

"  Good  God!  "  said  Lord  Elyn. 

As  I  finished  speaking  the  dog  had  sud- 
denly howled  again.  Involuntarily  I  stepped 
back. 

Vernon  laughed  once  more. 

"  Why,  anybody  would  think  you  were 
afraid  of  him,"  he  said.  "  What's  the  mat- 
ter? " 

90 


••BBIBHH 

"POOR   11KAST!     POOR  BEAST!" 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  tried  to  laugh  too — to  laugh  at  myself. 

"  He  gave  tongue  so  very  unexpectedly," 
I  said.  "  Poor  fellow!  Poor  fellow!  " 

I  was  speaking  to  the  dog,  but  I  did  not  go 
towards  him.  The  faint  disgust  with  which 
he  had  already  inspired  me  in  the  Park  was 
stronger  now  that  I  was  with  him  in  a  room. 
I  was  conscious  of  an  almost  invincible  desire 
to  go  straight  out  of  the  house,  to  get  into 
the  open  air,  quickly,  without  delay.  But  with 
this  feeling  blended  another,  more  subtle,  one 
that  surprised  me  by  its  force. 

I  longed,  before  I  went,  to  untie  that 
crouching  dog,  to  let  him  escape  from  the 
room,  the  house,  to  set  him  free.  With  the 
disgust  of  him  mingled  a  curious  pity  for  him 
that  was  inexplicable  to  me  then. 

I  think  Lord  Elyn  shared  my  feelings,  but 
he  acted  differently  from  me.  For,  whereas 
I  now  moved  away  to  go,  he  suddenly,  with 
determination,  walked  forward  towards  the 
spaniel.  Seeing  this,  I  stopped  just  outside 
the  door  in  the  corridor.  From  there  I  wit- 
nessed a  sight  that  increased  my  sensation  of 
pity,  and  at  the  same  time  deepened  my  sensa- 
tion of  disgust. 

Lord  Elyn,  when  he  was  near  the  spaniel, 
bent  down  a  little,  snapping  his  fingers  and 
saying,  "  Poor  beast!  poor  beast!  "  whereupon 
the  dog  suddenly  sprang  up  from  the  floor 
against  his  breast,  in  an  obvious  attempt  to 
nestle  into  his  arms  as  if  for  protection 

91 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

against  some  danger.  Lord  Elyn,  surprised, 
tried  to  hold  him,  but  failed,  and  let  him  drop 
heavily  to  the  floor. 

Vernon  interposed.  Going  forward  quick- 
ly he  said,  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  Lord  Elyn. 
He's  muddied  you.  Come  out  and  Cragg 
shall  brush  it  off." 

The  dog  shrank  back  against  the  curtain. 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter,"  Lord  Elyn  began. 

But  Vernon  took  his  arm  and  drew  him  with 
a  sort  of  gentle  inflexibility  towards  the  door 
and  into  the  corridor  where  I  was  standing. 

"  Cragg,"  Vernon  called;  "Cragg." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  man  coming  from  the  hall. 

Vernon  shut  the  door  of  the  study  sharply. 

"  Just  get  a  brush,  will  you?  The  dog  has 
put  his  dirty  paws  on  Lord  Elyn's  coat." 

"Certainly,  Sir." 

He  turned  on  the  electric  light.  Lord  Elyn 
stood  under  it  to  be  brushed.  I  noticed  that 
his  face  looked  very  white,  but  thought  it 
might  be  the  effect  of  the  light  upon  it.  When 
Cragg  had  finished,  Lord  Elyn  said— 

"  Good-night,  Vernon,"  and  walked  hastily 
towards  the  hall  door. 

"  May  I  come  with  you?  "  I  said. 

"  Do." 

I  bade  Vernon  good-bye  with  a  word  and  a 
hand-grasp,  and  in  a  moment  Lord  Elyn  and 
I  were  out  in  the  street. 

"Ouf!"  said  Lord  Elyn,  blowing  out  his 
breath. 

92 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

He  stood  still,  looking  towards  that  part  of 
the  house  which  had  been  Deeming's. 

"  By  Jove!  "  he  said,  as  if  speaking  to  him- 
self. 

Then,  suddenly  conscious  that  he  was  not 
alone,  he  exclaimed— 

"  Pray  forgive  me,  Luttrell,  but  the  fact 
is  I — well,  I  don't  know  why,  but  that  dog  has 
made  a  very  disagreeable  impression  on  me, 
very  disagreeable.  D'you  know,  when  he 
sprang  upon  me  just  now  I  felt  a  sensation— 
by  Jove,  it  was  a  sensation  of  horror,  of  abject 
horror." 

He  walked  on  slowly. 

"  I  noticed  you  were  looking  very  pale  in 
the  hall,"  I  said. 

"Pale?  I  should  think  so!  The  whole 
business —  I  say,  what  did  you  think  of  it, 
eh?" 

"  How  do  you  mean? "  I  asked  evasively. 

'  What  d'you  think  of  the  dog?  " 

:c  Poor  beast!     It  seemed  very  nervous." 

"  Nervous !  It  was  half -mad  with  terror. 
I  never  saw  a  dog  in  such  a  state  before.  And 
Vernon  such  a  lover  of  animals,  too!  That's 
the  strange  part  of  it." 

"  You  think  it  was  Vernon  it  was  afraid 
of?" 

'  To  be  sure.  Didn't  you  see  it  spring  upon 
me  for  protection,  and  directly  he  approached 
it  shrank  away  like  a  thing  demented?  Now, 
I've  been  with  animals  all  my  life — brought 

93 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

up  among  'em — and  never  before  have  I  seen 
an  animal's  instinct  betray  it.  Animals  know 
in  a  second  the  men  that  are  fond  of  'em  and 
the  men  who  hate  'em.  But  this  dog's  all  at 
sea.  It  thinks  Vernon's  a  regular  devil — a  dog- 
torturer.  It's  half-crazed  with  fear  of  him. 
That  is  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  The  thing's  un- 
natural, Luttrell — it's  d—  — d  unnatural!" 

He  spoke  with  a  vehemence  that  showed  how 
greatly  his  nerves  were  upset.  I  could  not 
contradict,  because  I  absolutely  agreed  with 
him. 

"That  dog,"  he  added,  "gives  me  the 
shudders." 

"Poor  wretch!"  I  said. 

"  You  pity  him  too?  "  he  asked. 

'  Yes.  But  when  he  gets  to  know  Vernon 
it  will  be  all  right.  Vernon  has  a  positive 
passion  for  animals." 

I  strove  to  speak  with  conviction,  for  I 
was  trying  to  convince  myself. 

"  I  know  he  has.    And  yet— — >" 

He  hesitated. 

"What,  LordElyn." 

'  Well,  didn't  it  strike  you  that  he  looked 
at  the  dog  very  queerly?  " 

"  Queerly? " 

"  Yes,  not  as  if  he  had  a  great  fancy  for  it." 

I  said  nothing. 

"  What  made  him  buy  it?  "  said  Lord  Elyn. 

"I've  no  idea,"  I  answered. 
94 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

And  indeed  at  that  moment  I  was  wonder- 
ing, wondering  almost  passionately. 

"  I'll  swear  he  doesn't  like  the  dog,"  said 
Lord  Elyn,  still  with  vehemence.  "  He  may  be 
as  fond  of  animals  as  you  like,  but  he  isn't 
fond  of  this  one." 

"  If  he  hadn't  taken  a  liking  to  it  why 
should  he  buy  it?  " 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  say.  It's  a  queer 
business.  I  had  an  idea  that — that  you  per- 
haps, had  some  inkling  what  was  up." 

And  again  his  look  questioned  me. 

"  I  haven't  indeed,"  I  said. 

And  I  spoke  the  truth.  I  was  in  the  dark, 
in  blackness. 

A  hansom  passed  us  slowly  at  this  moment. 
Lord  Elyn  hailed  it. 

"  I  must  get  home,"  he  said.  "  I'm  dining 
out.  Shall  I  give  you  a  lift?  " 

"No,   thank  you.     I'll  walk.     I  like  the 


exercise." 


"  Good-bye,  then." 

He  stepped  into  the  cab  and  drove  off, 
while  I  walked  slowly  back  to  Albemarle 
Street. 

Lord  Elyn  had  made  my  thoughts  clearer 
to  me  by  his  blunt  expressions.  He  had  asked 
me  if  I  had  any  inkling  of  what  was  up,  and, 
wrhen  he  said  that,  I  knew  quite  certainly  that, 
to  use  that  slangy  phrase,  I  thought  something 
was  up.  Vernon  had  been  moved  by  some 
strange  impulse  to  buy  the  black  spaniel,  had 

95 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

some  strange  purpose  in  connection  with  it. 
I  felt  sure  of  this.  My  instinct  told  me  that 
it  was  so.  What  had  caused  this  impulse? 
What  was  this  purpose? 

I  wondered,  but  could  not  tell. 

I  reviewed  Vernon's  character  as  I  knew  it 
carefully,  considered  all  that  I  had  heard  of 
him  from  others,  trying  to  find  a  clue  that 
would  guide  me  to  comprehension.  But  I  re- 
mained perplexed.  I  knew  good  of  him.  I 
had  always  heard  praise  of  him,  except  from 
one  person,  the  man  who  was  dead  and  in 
whose  house  he  now  lived.  Deeming  had  said 
to  me  once  that  Vernon  was  a  black  fanatic; 
the  phrase  was  strong,  brutal  even.  It  recurred 
to  my  mind  as  I  walked,  and  stayed  there. 
Then  I  thought  of  the  terror  in  the  spaniel's 
eyes  as  it  lay  motionless  against  the  red  curtain 
of  the  workroom.  And  I  was  troubled,  I  was 
strangely  ill  at  ease.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in 
my  friend,  hidden  away  like  a  thing  hidden  in 
a  cave,  was  something  mysterious,  something 
even  terrible,  and  that  the  black  spaniel  was 
connected  with  it.  But  how  could  that  be? 
Vernon  loved  all  animals.  He  was  at  this 
very  moment  devoting  his  life  to  the  advance- 
ment of  their  welfare.  For  them  he  had 
thrown  off  his  long  idleness  of  the  lounging 
traveller,  the  luxurious  art-lover,  who  wan- 
dered from  country  to  country  buying  to 
please  his  whim.  For  them  he  stayed  in  Eng- 
land and  lived  laborious  days.  Why,  then, 

96 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

when  I  thought  of  the  spaniel  shut  up  in  his 
study,  should  I  be  chilled  with  fear?  I  rea- 
soned with  myself,  but  in  vain.  The  sense  of 
fear,  of  mystery,  remained  with  me.  It  was 
deepened  by  an  incident  which  occurred  six 
days  later. 

During  those  days  I  had  not  seen  Vernon; 
I  had  heard  nothing  of  him  or  of  the  black 
spaniel. 

The  incident  to  which  I  alluded  was  my 
meeting  for  the  first  time  with  Arthur  Gern- 
ham. 

At  a  man's  dinner,  given  by  a  famous 
throat-specialist  renowned  not  only  as  a  sur- 
geon but  as  a  host,  I  found  myself  sitting  op- 
posite to  a  very  remarkable-looking  man  of 
about  forty  years  of  age.  I  had  not  been  in- 
troduced to  him,  and  had  no  idea  who  he  was, 
but  he  at  once  attracted  my  attention  by  his 
air  of  fiery  vitality  and  his  unconventional  at- 
tire. Instead  of  the  ordinary  evening  dress, 
he  wore  a  pair  of  black  trousers,  a  loose  silk 
shirt  with  a  turned-down  collar  and  very  small 
black  tie,  and  a  double-breasted  smoking-coat 
which  concealed  his  waistcoat,  if  he  had  one. 
His  powerful,  sinewy  wrists  were  unfettered 
by  cuffs,  and  his  powerful  throat  was  free 
from  the  stiff  linen  ramparts  over  which 
the  average  Englishman  faces  the  world 
in  the  evening.  He  was  evidently  a  man 
who  hated  restraint.  His  face  was  pale,  of 
the  hatchet  type,  with  a  long  hooked  nose,  the 

97 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

bridge  of  which  was  unusually  marked ;  a  large 
mouth,  unsmiling  but  not  unkind;  a  narrow, 
very  high  forehead,  and  gleaming  hazel  eyes. 
His  head  was  sparsely  covered  with  odd  tufts 
of  light-brown  hair. 

During  dinner  Gernham  talked  a  great  deal 
in  a  rasping  voice.  His  conversation  was  in- 
teresting, for  he  wras  not  only  intelligent,  but 
obviously  an  enthusiast,  and  one  who  was  en- 
tirely fearless  of  the  opinion  of  others.  I 
wondered  much  who  he  was,  and  as  we  were 
getting  up  from  the  table  I  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  ask  my  host. 

"Arthur  Gernham,"  he  said.  "  Very  down 
on  us  doctors,  but  an  interesting  fellow.  In 
another  age  he'd  have  courted  persecution  for 
the  faith  that  is  in  him.  Let  me  introduce 
you." 

And  he  did  so. 

Gernham  shook  me  warmly  by  the  hand. 

"  My  dear  colleague  Kersteven  has  often 
spoken  of  you,"  he  said.  '  You  sympathise 
with  our  efforts,  don't  you?  " 

He  jerked  his  head  upwards  and  looked  at 
me  keenly.  I  said  something — I've  forgotten 
what — and  he  continued  abruptly — 

"  Come  along.  Let's  have  a  good  talk. 
Have  a  cigar." 

He  gave  me  a  very  large  one,  flung  himself 
down  in  an  armchair,  and  talked  enthusias- 
tically of  Vernon. 

"  I've  been  almost  living  in  his  house  this 
98 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

last  week,"  he  said.  "  We're  preparing  a  fresh 
campaign  on  behalf  of  the  blessed  beasts,  our 
brothers.  We've  got  together  some  statistics 
that'll  startle  the  comfortable  elbow-chair 
Englishmen,  I  can  tell  you.  I'll  never  rest  till 
I've  roused  the  country  to  the  horrors  that  are 
being  perpetrated  every  day,  every  hour,  every 
minute,  upon  the  defenceless  animals  God  has 
committed  to  us  to  be  good  to.  And  Vernon 
—what  a  splendid  chap  he  is!  What  a  col- 
league! All  pity!  The  man's  made  of  pity, 
made  of  tenderness.  Ah,  but  you  know 
that!" 

"Yes!"  I  said. 

I  thought  of  the  black  spaniel.  Here  was 
an  opportunity  to  find  out  how  Vernon  and  his 
pet  were  getting  on  together. 

"  You've  been  in  the  house  with  Vernon  a 
great  deal  lately?  "  I  began. 

"  Every  day  and  all  day,"  he  said,  "  this  last 
week." 

"How's  that  new  pet  of  his?"  I  asked. 
"  Reconciled  and  happy  in  his  new  home?  " 

"Pet?"  said  Gernham. 
'Yes,  the  dog." 

"  He  hasn't  got  ,one.  Don't  you  know 
the  hideous  story?  He  once  had  a  spaniel 
called " 

"  I  know,"  I  interrupted.  "  And  he's  got 
another." 

"  Not  he!  "  rejoined  Gernham,  with  sledge- 
hammer certainty.  "  He'll  never  have  an- 

99 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

other.  I  understand  the  poor  chap's  feelings. 
At  the  same  time — 

But  here  I  interrupted  again,  and  told 
Gernham  the  story  of  Vernon's  acquisition  of 
the  spaniel.  He  heard  me  with  an  amazement 
he  did  not  try  to  conceal. 

"And  you  mean  to  say  the  dog's  in  the 
house  now?  "  he  cried,  when  I  had  finished. 

"  I  suppose  so,  unless  he's  got  rid  of  it  al- 
ready." 

Gernham  sat  quite  still  with  his  thin  hands 
spread  out  on  his  knees  staring  at  me  hard. 

"  This  is  extraordinary,"  he  said  at  last,  with 
a  sort  of  biting  decision. 

"  You  mean  that  he  didn't  mention  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  dog?  " 

"  I  mean  more  than  that.  I  mean  that  he 
concealed  it  from  me." 

"  Concealed  it? " 

"  Certainly.  I've  got  any  amount  of  ani- 
mals— dogs,  cats,  the  whole  show — and  I'm 
always  urging  Kersteven  to  set  up  a  happy 
family.  We  preach  kindness,  he  and  I.  We 
ought  to  practise  it  actively  as  much  as  we  can. 
But  his  feelings  about  his  dead  dog  have  al- 
ways stood  in  the  way.  I'm  perpetually  try- 
ing to  convert  him  to  my  view.  I've  been  at 
it  this  week." 

"  And  he  said  he  hadn't  a  dog?  " 

"  No.  But  he  never  said  he  had  one.  It's 
much  the  same  thing  under  the  circumstances. 

100 


THE    BLACK 


I  should  never  have  thought  Kersteven  could 
be  deceitful.  I  don't  like  it.  I—  I  hate  it!" 

At  this  moment  we  were  interrupted.  Two 
of  the  other  men  came  up  and  we  had  no  more 
private  talk  that  evening.  When  I  was  going 
away  Gernham  said  — 

"  Come  and  see  me  —  will  you?  Here's  my 
card." 

He  gave  it  to  me,  shook  my  hand,  and  as 
I  turned  to  go  said— 

"  You've  spoilt  my  evening,  I  can  tell  you 
that." 

I  thought,  "  And  you've  spoilt  mine,"  but 
I  did  not  say  it. 


101 


IX 

I  WENT  home  that  night  wondering  whether 
Vernon  had  got  rid  of  the  black  spaniel. 
Perhaps  he  had  found  it  impossible  to  rec- 
oncile it  to  its  new  quarters,  and  had  sold 
it  or  given  it  back  to  the  man  with  the 
fur  cap.  Or  perhaps  it  was  still  in  the  house. 
If  that  were  so,  it  was  very  strange,  very  un- 
like Vernon  to  have  concealed  the  fact  from 
Arthur  Gernham.  But,  in  either  case,  he  had 
been  deceitful,  deliberately  deceitful,  with  a 
friend,  and  a  friend  whom  he  greatly  admired 
and  respected. 

This  incident  of  my  meeting  with  Gernham 
deepened  my  sense  of  fear,  of  mystery.  My 
instinct — I  now  felt  sure  of  it — was  right. 
Some  strange  under  side  of  Vernon's  character 
was  active  at  this  moment.  I  knew  him  only 
in  part;  much  of  him  I  did  not  know.  A 
stranger  now  seemed  to  confront  me  in  the 
night,  a  stranger  by  whose  feet  crouched  some- 
thing black  and  terrified.  What  was  this 
stranger's  purpose?  What  could  it  be? 

I  reviewed  carefully  my  whole  acquaintance 
with  Vernon,  but  especially  the  latter  part  of 
my  acquaintance  with  him,  when  Deeming  was 
in  relation  with  us  both.  It  was  then,  when 

102 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Deeming  came  into  his  life,  and  only  then, 
that  Vernon  had  shown  me  for  the  first  time  a 
man  in  him  whose  presence  I  had  not  suspected, 
whose  exact  nature  I  did  not  know.  This  man 
was  roused  by  Deeming.  I  should  have  let 
him  sleep.  But,  having  been  roused,  he  had 
surely  been  sleepless  ever  since.  Yes,  that  was 
so.  Thus  far,  things  were  clear  to  me.  Some- 
thing— the  strange  man  in  Vernon — had  been 
wakeful,  ardent  ever  since,  was  wakeful,  ar- 
dent now.  This  man  it  was  who  worked  shoul- 
der to  shoulder  with  Gernham.  This  man  it 
was  who  had  bought  the  black  spaniel. 

So  far,  light.  But  now  came  the  darkness. 
What  had  been  Vernon's  purpose  in  buying 
the  black  spaniel?  When  he  saw  it  he  had 
looked  at  it  fatally.  At  that  moment,  while  he 
looked  at  it,  his  purpose  had  sprung  up  full- 
grown  in  his  mind,  full-grown  and  fierce.  I 
was  not  to  know  that  purpose.  Arthur  Gern- 
ham was  not  to  know  it.  He  now  had  some 
purpose  in  connection  with  an  animal  that  Ar- 
thur Gernham,  his  close  friend  and  colleague, 
his  leader  in  a  campaign  of  kindness,  of  pity, 
to  which  he  was  dedicating  all  his  activities 
and  giving  all  his  enthusiasm,  was  not  to  know 
or  even  suspect.  That  purpose,  since  it  was 
in  connection  with  an  animal,  must  surely  be 
one  of  kindness,  of  pity. 

But  here  my  instinct  rebelled  violently 
against  my  knowledge  of  Vernon.  My  in- 
stinct said  that  it  was  not  so;  that  Vernon's 

103 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

purpose  in  buying  the  black  spaniel  had  been 
sad,  even  perhaps  terrible.  Yet  how  could  that 
be? 

The  dog's  eyes  haunted  me.  They  seemed 
to  me  to  know  what  I  did  not  know,  to  know 
what  Vernon's  purpose  was. 

Deeming — again  I  thought  of  him,  of  Ver- 
non's short  and  strange  connection  with  him. 
Once  Vernon  had  said  to  me  that  he  believed 
Deeming  was  a  man  haunted  by  a  mania  for 
persecution.  He  had  spoken  without  knowl- 
edge then.  Later,  he  had  travelled  to  Eng- 
land to  gain  knowledge.  He  had  taken  the 
house  in  Wimpole  Street  to  gain  knowledge. 
Had  he  gained  it?  I  did  not  know.  Vernon 
had  never  told  me.  Was  that  why  I  was  in 
the  dark  now?  It  began  to  seem  to  me  that, 
perhaps,  if  I  could  find  out  what  Vernon  knew 
of  Deeming  I  should  understand  something 
of  his  present  purpose,  of  his  purpose  in  buy- 
ing the  black  spaniel. 

At  this  stage  in  my  mental  debate  I  reached 
the  Piccadilly  corner  of  Albemarle  Street,  and 
was  just  going  to  turn  towards  my  house, 
when  a  familiar  face,  a  face  respectable,  close- 
shaven,  English,  looked  upon  me  in  the  lamp- 
light, and  a  bowler  hat  was  deferentially 
lifted. 

"Cragg!"  I  said. 

"  Good-night,  Sir,"  said  Cragg.  "  A  fine 
night,  Sir." 

"  Yes — wait  a  minute,  Cragg." 
104 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  Certainly,  Sir." 

Vernon's  man  stood  still. 

"  Just  walk  with  me  to  my  door,  will  you?  " 

•'  With  pleasure,  Sir." 

We  turned  side  by  side  into  the  comparative 
quiet  of  Albemarle  Street. 

"  How  is  Mr.  Kersteven,  Cragg?  " 

"Well,   Sir-  The  man  slightly  hesi- 

tated.    "  Oh,  Sir,  he's  in  his  usual  health,  I 
think." 

"  Working  hard,  isn't  he?  " 

"  Very  hard,  Sir." 

"  With  Mr.  Gernham." 

'  Yes,  Sir,  with  Mr.  Gernham." 

"And — and  how's  the  dog,  Cragg?" 

I  looked  at  him  as  I  spoke,  arid  saw  his  fore- 
head contract. 

'  The  dog,  Sir? — oh,  the  dog  is  getting  on 
all  right  so  far  as  I  am  aware." 

"  How  do  you  mean — so  far  as  you  are 
aware?  " 

"  Well,  Sir,  I  don't  see  much  of  it.  That's 
a  fact." 

"Really.     How's  that?" 

I  was  pumping  the  man,  I  acknowledge  it. 
I  can  make  no  excuse  for  it.  I  was  driven  by 
something  that  seemed  to  me  then  more  than 
an  ignoble  curiosity. 

'  Well,  Sir,  Mr.  Kersteven  keeps  the  dog 
shut  up  mostly.  I  suppose  he  thinks  that  till 
it  gets  accustomed  to  the  place  and  to  us  it's 
better." 

105 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  But  if  it's  always  shut  up,  how  can  it  get 
accustomed  to  you? " 

'  That's  more  than  I  can  say,  Sir." 

I  could  see  that  the  man  was  constrained, 
was  not  telling  me  something  of  which  his 
mind  was  full.  We  had  now  reached  my  door, 
and  I  had  no  further  excuse  for  keeping  him 
with  me. 

"  Well,  Cragg,"  I  said.     "  Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  Sir." 

"  I  hope  the  dog  will  settle  down  and  be 
friendly  with  you." 

"Friendly  with  me,  Sir!  That  dog!  The 
Lord  forbid! "  cried  Cragg. 

He  seemed  startled  by  the  sound  of  his  own 
lamentable  exclamation,  looked  at  me  as  if 
asking  pardon,  lifted  his  hat,  and  walked 
quickly  away  into  the  darkness.  I  stood  star- 
ing after  him.  I  longed  to  follow  him,  to  ques- 
tion him,  to  find  out  what  he  meant.  But  how 
could  I? 

That  night  it  was  late  before  I  went  to 
sleep.  The  black  spaniel  seemed  to  be  crouch- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  I  seemed  to  see  its 
yellow  eyes  fixed  upon  me,  trying  to  tell  me 
what  I  longed  to  know. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  I 
received  a  very  unexpected  visit  from  Arthur 
Gernham.  When  I  saw  him  come  into  my 
room,  dressed  in  a  suit  of  homespun,  with  a 
flannel  shirt  and  a  red  tie,  and  holding  a  soft 
brown  wideawake  in  his  hand,  I  jumped  up 

106 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

from  my  chair  eagerly.  I  guessed  at  once  that 
he  had  something  to  say  with  reference  to  our 
conversation  of  the  previous  night. 

"How  are  you?"  he  said,  in  his  rasping, 
energetic  voice.  "  I  got  your  address  from 
the  Red  Book." 

He  sat  down  and  stretched  out  his  long  legs. 

"I'm  delighted  to  see  you,"  I  said. 
"  You've  been  at  work  with  Vernon?  " 

"I've  been  with  him." 

He  ran  one  hand  over  his  tufts  of  scanty 
hair. 

"  I'm  disappointed  in  Kersteven,"  he  said. 
"  I  never  should  have  thought  he  was  a  shifty 
fellow." 

The  word  shifty,  applied  to  Vernon,  roused 
my  sense  of  friendship. 

"  Oh,  you're  mistaken,"  I  exclaimed.  "Ver- 
non's  not  a  shifty  man." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — he  is." 

I  waited  in  silence  for  him  to  explain  him- 
self. I  saw  plainly  that  he  was  going  to. 
There  was  a  sledge-hammer  honesty  about 
Gernham  that  was  startling  but  rather  re- 
freshing. He  now  proceeded  to  give  me  a 
specimen  of  it. 

"  I  can't  stomach  a  friend  who  isn't  perfect- 
ly straight  with  me,"  he  said;  "and  what's 
more,  I'm  bound  to  tell  him  so.  I  can't  keep 
anything  in.  Whatever  I  feel  I  have  to  out 
with  it.  That's  my  nature.  It's  got  me  into 

107 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

plenty  of  trouble,  and  it  will  get  me  into  plen- 
ty more.  Fights  were  my  lot  at  Eton,  and 
fights  have  been  my  lot,  more  or  less,  ever 
since." 

He  unbuttoned  one  of  the  cuffs  of  his  flan- 
nel shirt,  pushed  the  flannel  higher  up  his  arm, 
and  went  on: 

"  With  Kersteven  I  got  on  magnificently 
until  to-day." 

"  Have  you  had  a  wordy  fight  with  Vernon 
to-day,  then?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  went  straight  to  him  this  morning  and 
told  him  I'd  met  you  last  night.  He  asked  me 
how  I  liked  you,  and  I  told  him,  '  Very  much.' 
Then  I  said,  plump  out,  '  You've  been  tricky 
with  me,  Kersteven.' ' 

"Oh!"  I  exclaimed. 

He  took  no  notice  of  my  interruption,  and 
went  on — 

"  'You've  let  me  make  a  fool  of  myself  with 
you.  That's  nothing.  One  makes  a  fool  of 
oneself  most  days  one  way  or  another.'  '  What 
do  you  mean? '  he  asked.  '  That  you've  al- 
lowed me  to  think  that  you  would  never  keep 
a  dog  or  animal  of  any  kind  in  your  house,  that 
you've  sat  here  and  listened  to  me  trying  to 
persuade  you  to  keep  one,  while  all  the 
time  there  is — or  was — one  perhaps  within  a 
few  feet  of  me.  You've  let  me  think  what 
wasn't  true,  you've  made  me  think  what  wasn't 
true.  I  don't  know  what  your  reason  is,  but 
I  know  that  I  hate  your  action,  and  that  I 

108 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

never  thought  you  were  capable  of  doing  such 
a  low  thing  to  a  friend.' ' 

"Pretty  strong,"  I  said.  "How  did  he 
take  it?" 

"  That's  the  nastiest  part  of  all.  He  took  it 
lying  down." 

"  Lying  down? " 

"Yes.  Merely  said  the  matter  of  the  dog 
was  such  a  trifle  he  hadn't  thought  it  would 
interest  me  to  know  of  it,  that  he  wasn't  sure 
of  keeping  it  for  any  time,  that  he'd  been  so 
busy  with  me  that — etc.,  etc.  The  lamest  ex- 
cuses man  ever  offered  to  man.  I  was  disgust- 
ed, and  showed  it.  It's  my  way  to  show  things 
—can't  help  doing  it.  '  Let's  get  to  work,'  he 
said,  trying  to  change  the  subject.  '  No,'  I 
said.  '  I  can't  work  with  you  to-day.  That's 
certain.'  And  I  took  up  my  hat  and  went." 

"  And  you — you  didn't  see  the  dog?  " 

"  Oh,  dear  no.  But  it  wasn't  that  I  cared 
about." 

"  I  wish  you  had  seen  it.  I  wish  you  would 
see  it." 

I  was  speaking  almost  involuntarily,  as  if 
the  words  were  forced  from  me,  words  scarce- 
ly prompted  by  any  thought  in  me,  words  that 
were  uttered  for  me. 

"  Why?  "  he  asked.  "  Why?  What  do  you 
mean? " 

His  face  and  manner  were  always  alert,  but 
now  they  had  suddenly  become  intense  with  a 
sort  of  quivering  vivacity. 

109 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  What's  wrong  about  the  dog? " 

:<  I  don't  know  that  anything  is  wrong." 

"Know!  Do  you  suspect  anything  is 
wrong? " 

I  waited  a  minute.  I  was  repeating  to  my- 
self Gernham's  question. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  do.  But  I  don't 
know  why  I  suspect,  and  I  don't  know  what 
I  suspect.  That's  the  honest  truth  and  vague 
enough.  But  I  can't  help  it." 

He  looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes  for  a 
full  minute,  I  should  think.  Then  he  said — 

"  I  want  you  to  be  less  vague,  Luttrell;  and 
I  think  you  can.  A  man  doesn't  say  such  a 
thing  as  you've  said  without  more  meaning 
than  you've  acknowledged." 

"  I  assure  you "  I  began. 

But  he  stopped  me. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said.  "  One  often  has 
a  thought  behind  one's  thought,  like  a  body  be- 
hind its  shadow.  You've  found  the  shadow; 
now  look  for  the  body,  and  I'll  bet  you'll  find 
that  too." 

His  words  seemed  to  clear  away  some 
mystery  from  my  mind,  but  I  shrank  from 
what  was  now  revealed — the  body  behind  the 
shadow. 

"  I  see  you  know  now  what  you  suspect,"  he 
said,  still  looking  into  my  eyes  with  intensity. 
"  What  is  it?  " 

"  I  do  know  now,"  I  answered.  "  But  it's 
monstrous,  and  upon  my  word  I'm  ashamed  to 

110 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

say  it.  For  you  must  know  that  I've  a  great 
regard  for  Vernon." 

"  And  so  have — or  had — I.  His  tenderness 
for  the  suffering  of  the  animal  world  drew  me 
to  him.  I  can't  forget  that  even  now,  after 
this  beastly  affair  of  the  dog." 

"  His  tenderness  for  the  animal  world,"  I 
repeated.  "  It's  just  that — just  my  knowl- 
edge of  that,  which  makes  my  suspicion  so 
monstrous." 

"  Let's  have  it,  I  must  have  it ! "  he  said. 
*  You're  no  backbiter,  you're  an  honest  fellow. 
I  can  see  that.  Go  ahead.  I  shan't  mistake 
your  motives." 

There  was  a  compelling  frankness  about 
him.  I  yielded  to  it. 

"  My  suspicion  is  that  perhaps  Vernon  is 
being  cruel  to  that  dog,"  I  said. 

Gerriham  sat  quite  still.  I  saw  that  my 
words  had  deeply  astonished  him.  But  he 
did  not  burst  forth,  as  many  another  man 
would  have  done,  in  a  denial  of  the  possibil- 
ity of  my  suspicion  being  roused  by  a  horrid 
fact,  being  well  founded.  He  was  a  very 
quick  man,  and  full  of  finesse  despite  his 
bluntness. 

"What  are  your  reasons?"  he  said  slowly. 

"  I  can  scarcely  say  I  have  any.  Let  me 
think,  though." 

After  a  minute  I  described  to  him  minutely 
how  Vernon  had  regarded  the  spaniel  in  the 
Park,  the  dog's  fear  there,  its  much  greater 

111 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

terror  on  being  brought  into  the  house  in 
Wimpole  Street,  Vernon's  strange  excitement 
on  its  arrival,  and  excitement  in  which  there 
seemed  to  be  an  admixture  of  triumph,  his 
laughter  as  he  opened  the  door  of  the  room 
in  which  the  spaniel  was  confined;  the  dog's 
rush  for  safety  to  Lord  Elyn,  and  shrinking 
away  when  Vernon  approached  it.  When  I 
had  finished,  I  added — 

"  There's  one  thing  more." 

4  What  is  it?" 

Then  I  related  to  him  my  meeting  with 
Cragg  on  the  previous  night,  and  what  the 
man  had  told  me  about  Vernon's  keeping  the 
spaniel  perpetually  shut  up. 

"  That's  all,"  I  ended.    "  Not  much,  is  it?  " 

"  D'  you  know,"  he  said,  "  what's  far  the 
most  striking  fact  in  all  that  you've  told  me?  " 

"What?  "I  asked. 

"  The  dog's  horror  of  Kersteven.  The  rest 
may  be  nothing — fancy  of  yours  or  oddity  of 
manner  on  Kersteven's  part.  But  the  dog's 
horror  of  Kersteven  is  very  strange,  and — un- 
less your  suspicion  is  correct,  which  God  for- 
bid— very  unnatural." 

"  Unnatural — that's  just  what  Lord  Elyn 
called  it." 

"Ah!" 

"  And  his  trying  to  keep  the  fact  of  the  dog 
being  in  the  house  from  you.  Isn't  that  very 
strange? " 

"Certainly  it  is.  But — by  Jove! — the 
112 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

strangest  thing  of  all  would  be  that  Kersteven 
should  be  cruel  to  an  animal." 

"  Yes,  that's  true.  I  can't — no,  I  can't  be- 
lieve it  possible." 

"  What  could  be  his  motive?  " 

"  I  can't  conceive." 

"  I  know  the  man.  He  has  a  passion  of  pity 
in  him  for  the  sufferings  of  the  animals,  a  real 
passion.  Only  one  thing  could  account  for  his 
being  cruel,  deliberately  and  persistently 
cruel,  to  a  dog." 

"  What?" 

"  If  he  were  mad." 

"  Oh,  that— impossible!  " 

"  It  would  be  the  only  thing,"  he  repeated. 
"  I  know  something  of  insanity.  A  chief  fea- 
ture of  it  is  this,  that  it  often  creates  in  a  man 
the  reverse  of  what  he  was  before  it  took  pos- 
session of  him.  Thus  the  kind,  sane  man  be- 
comes the  cruel  madman ;  the  lively,  mercurial 
sane  man  the  bitter,  melancholy  madman — 
and  so  on.  You  take  me?  " 

"  Vernon  isn't  mad,"  I  said  with  conviction. 

"  Then  he  isn't  being  cruel  to  his  dog,"  he 
said  with  equal  conviction. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  I  said  dubiously. 
:<  The  whole  thing's  a  mystery.  Why  should 
he  buy  the  dog  after  swearing  he  would  never 
have  another?  A  whim,  he  said  it  was,  a  ca- 
price. But  I  don't  believe  that.  No,  there 
was  some  deeper,  stranger  reason.  What 
could  it  be?" 

113 


THE  BLACK  SPANIEL 

I  was  asking  myself,  not  him. 

Gernham  got  up  to  go. 

"  One  thing  I  promise  you,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
set  at  rest  your  doubts  in  a  very  short  time. 
I'll  find  out  for  certain  that  Kersteven  is  treat- 
ing that  dog  properly.  I  devote  my  life  to  our 
dumb  friends,  as  you  know.  Well,  they  shan't 
find  me  wanting  now,  though  a  man  who  has 
been  my  chum  and  my  colleague  is  concerned 
in  this  matter." 

'  What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 
'  To-morrow  I  ought  to  be  working  with 
'Kersteven.  After  to-day  I  didn't  mean  to  go, 
I  didn't  feel  as  if  I  could  go.  But  now  I  will, 
and  I'll  see  the  spaniel  and  see  him  with  Ker- 
steven. Never  fear! " 

He  spoke  with  biting  decision.  I  looked  at 
him  and  felt  that  he  would  do  what  he  said. 

"  Brush  my  suspicions  away,"  I  said,  "  and 
I'll  be  only  too  thankful.  Good-bye." 

He  went  off  quickly. 

When  the  door  was  shut  behind  him  I 
thought  how  strange  it  was  that  Gernham's 
purpose  in  connection  with  Vernon  was  ex- 
actly the  same  as  had  been  Vernon's  in  connec- 
tion with  Deeming  when  he  left  Rome  for 
London. 

He  had  wanted  to  see  a  black  spaniel  with 
Deeming.  Gernham  wanted  to  see  a  black 
spaniel  with  him. 


114 


X 

JUST  before  lunch  the  next  day  Gernham  was 
announced. 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said,  coming  into  the 
room  close  upon  the  heels  of  my  man.  "  Can 
I  lunch  with  you?  " 

"  Certainly.     Lunch  for  two,  Bates." 
'Yes,  Sir." 

The  man  went  out  and  shut  the  door.  Then 
I  turned  to  Gernham. 

1  You've  been  to  Wimpole  Street? "  I  asked. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  remember  I  told  you  yester- 
day that  Kersteven  had  taken  my  punishment 
lying  down? " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

'  Well,  since  then  he's  thought  it  over,  and 
got  up." 

'  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"Yesterday  I  declined  to  work  with  him. 
To-day,  he's  declined  to  work  with  me.  He's 
refused  me  admittance  to  his  house.  See 
that!" 

He  put  a  note  down  on  the  table  beside  me. 
I  took  it  and  read  as  follows : 

DEAR  GERNHAM — I  don't  know  whether  you  will  come 
to-day ;  but  should  you  do  so,  I've  told  Cragg  to  give  you 
this.  I  did  not  care  to  quarrel  with  a  man  in  my  own 

115 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

house ;  and  so  yesterday,  when  you  were  impertinent  to 
me,  I  did  not  appear  to  resent  it.  As  you  know,  I  ad- 
mire your  character  and  respect  your  enthusiasm,  and  it 
has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  be  associated  with  you 
in  a  work  which  I  love  with  my  whole  heart  and  soul. 
But  I  allow  no  man  to  criticise  my  conduct  as  you  have 
chosen  to  criticise  it.  I  am  sorry,  therefore,  that  unless 
you  feel  inclined  to  apologise,  I  cannot  admit  you  to  my 
house. — Believe  me,  faithfully, 

VERNON  KERSTEVEN. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,  eh? "  asked 
Gernham,  when  I  finished  reading  the  note. 
"Pretty  blunt,  isn't  it?" 

"  Vernon  has  decidedly  got  up,"  I  said. 

I  looked  again  at  the  note. 
'  Tell  me  just  what  you  think,"  Gernham 
said. 

'  Well,"  I  answered,  with  some  hesitation, 
"  it's  an  abrupt  change  of  front  after  his  be- 
haviour yesterday." 

"  Too  abrupt,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  like  it;  I 
don't  like  it  at  all.  You  were  right,  Luttrell; 
there  is  a  mystery  here — a  mystery  connected 
with  that  dog.  But  I  haven't  got  your  opinion 
yet!" 

He  was  a  persistent  man,  and  did  not  read- 
ily lose  sight  of  his  object. 

"  You  want  to  know  how  I  explain  Vernon's 
change  of  front." 

"  Exactly." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  he  has  thought  things 
over  since  yesterday,  and  resolved  to  avail  him- 

116 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

self  of  this  pretext  to  keep  you  out  of  his 
house." 

"That's  it!"  exclaimed  Gernham.  "I've 
given  him  his  opportunity  like  a  fool,  and  he's 
taken  it,  like  a  clever  man.  But  where  an 
animal  is  concerned  I'm  not  so  easily  dished. 
A  good  many  people  who've  appeared  in  the 
London  police-courts  know  that." 

"  When  you  got  this  note,  what  did  you 
do?" 

"  I  tried  to  question  Cragg." 

"And  the  result?" 

"  Nil.  Directly  I  mentioned  the  dog,  he 
looked  as  grim  as  death,  and  became  mono- 
syllabic. There's  something  up,  and  Cragg 
has  an  inkling  of  it.  But  he'll  never  tell  it  to 
me.  You've  got  to  go  into  this,  Luttrell." 

At  this  moment  lunch  was  announced,  and 
the  rest  of  the  conversation  took  place  in  the 
dining-room.  Directly  after  lunch  Gernham 
hurried  away,  leaving  me  pledged  to  act  where 
he  could  not  act,  pledged  to  probe  to  the  bot- 
tom, and  without  delay,  the  mystery  of  the 
black  spaniel. 

My  relation  with  Vernon  was  now  almost 
exactly  similar  to  his  former  relation  with 
Deeming,  and  Gernham  was  to  be  the  inactive 
watcher,  the  waiter  on  events  engineered  by 
others,  that  I  had  formerly  been.  But  there 
was  a  difference  in  this  new  situation  which 
had  followed  so  strangely  upon  the  death  of 
Deeming.  Vernon  had  never  been  Deeming's 

117 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

friend.  From  the  first  moment  when  they  met 
the  two  men  had  been  instinctively  hostile  to 
one  another.  But  I  was  Vernon's  friend.  I 
cared  for  him.  Till  now  I  had  believed  in  him. 
This  fact  complicated  matters  painfully.  And 
yet  I  did  not  hesitate,  did  not  feel  that  in  my 
understanding  with  Gernham  I  was  being 
treacherous,  disloyal. 

For  the  eyes  of  the  black  spaniel  haunted 
me,  summoned  me,  seemed  to  force  me  to  go 
on,  to  investigate  this  mystery.  By  them  I 
was  driven  to  do  as  I  did.  By  them  I  was 
told  that  in  my  friend  a  new  man,  a  stranger, 
had  arisen,  and  that  in  attacking  this  stranger 
— if  attack  were  necessary — I  should  not  be 
false  to  my  friendship  with  the  man  who  had 
lived  in  Rome,  the  quiet  lover  of  pictures,  the 
gentle,  idle,  cultivated  Vernon  of  the  Trinita 
dei  Monti. 

Vernon  was  generally  at  home  after  six  in 
the  evening.  I  resolved  to  seek  him  at  that 
hour  on  the  same  day,  and  carried  my  resolu- 
tion into  effect.  Cragg  opened  the  door  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Kersteven  at  home,  Cragg?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"Can  I  see  him?" 

"  If  you'll  wait  a  moment,  Sir,  Til  ask." 

He  paused,  then  added  in  explanation — 

"  I  don't  think  Mr.  Kersteven  is  very  well 
to-day,  Sir.  Perhaps  he  may  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed,  even  by  you.  You'll  excuse  me, 
Sir." 

118 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  Of  course.    Go  and  see.    I'll  stay  here." 

"  Pray  take  a  seat,  Sir." 

He  placed  a  chair  for  me  in  the  little  hall, 
and  went  discreetly  away  up  the  stairs. 

I  sat  down  and  waited. 

The  hall  was  quiet  and  dim.  Somewhere  a 
large  clock  was  ticking.  Now  and  then  I  heard 
a  carriage  roll  by  outside.  As  I  sat  there  I 
fell  into  deep  thought.  Whdt  was  I  going  to 
do?  I  had  come  to  the  house  without  making 
any  plan.  I  could  not  make  any  plan  till  I 
had  seen  Vernon.  His  demeanour,  his  action, 
must  guide  me.  Would  he  see  me?  I  thought 
it  probable.  There  was  evidently  no  one  with 
him.  Had  there  been,  Cragg  would  have  told 
me;  and,  if  I  saw  him,  should  I  find  the  black 
spaniel  with  him?  I  glanced  round  me.  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  close  to  where  I 
was  sitting,  opened  the  short  corridor,  or  pas- 
sage, which  linked  the  two  houses  in  one.  I 
could  see  the  darkness  of  what  had  been  Deem- 
ing's  house  where  the  passage  stretched  away 
beyond  the  door  of  Vernon's  workroom.  Poor 
Deeming!  Gone,  with  all  his  fine  abilities,  his 
energy,  his  persistence,  his  ambition — his 
cruelty,  perhaps!  Had  he  been  cruel?  Possi- 
bly Vernon  knew.  If  he  had,  he  was  perhaps 
now  being  punished  in  that  other  mysterious 
world  of  which  we  know  nothing,  of  which  we 
seldom  think  in  health,  but  which  seems  to 
loom  near  us  when  we  are  ill,  or  weary,  or  in 
trouble  of  mind — to  loom  as  a  great  vault  be- 

119 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

fore  whose  entrance  we  stand,  gazing  but  see- 
ing naught.  As  I  stared  down  the  corridor 
into  the  dimness  of  the  other  house,  the  thought 
of  Deeming  haunted  me,  came  to  me  vividly, 
till  I  almost  fancied  that  something  of  him, 
some  thrown-out  essence  of  his  personality,  of 
his  strong  soul,  still  remained  in  the  dwelling 
that  had  been  his,  still  knew  what  went  on 
there,  still  watched  the  coming  and  going  of 
the  man  who  governed  where  he  had  governed 
once. 

I  fancied,  did  I  say?  It  was  more  than  that. 
I  felt  as  if  he  were  near  me,  as  if  he  were  even 
intent  upon  me. 

Then  from  the  thought  of  him,  and  still 
with  that  sensation  of  his  nearness,  of  his  at- 
tention, upon  me,  my  mind  travelled  to  the 
black  spaniel.  His  dog,  that  mysterious  crea- 
ture never  seen  by  me,  had  pattered  in  the  dim- 
ness towards  which  I  was  gazing.  And  now, 
as  Deeming's  place  was  taken  by  Vernon,  its 
place  was  taken  by  the  black  spaniel  Vernon 
had  first  seen  in  the  Park  cowering  down 
against  the  earth,  its  ears  laid  back,  its  body 
trembling,  its  eyes  full  of  a  message  of  voice- 
less fear.  Perhaps  it  was  close  to  me  now,  this 
successor  of  Deeming's  pet  or  victim.  Per- 
haps it  was  shut  up  in  the  room  in  which  I  had 
seen  it  lying  against  the  red  curtain.  I  could 
see  the  door  of  the  room.  It  was  shut.  A  few 
steps  would  bring  me  to  it.  I  glanced  towards 
the  staircase.  Cragg  was  not  coming  down. 

120 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  got  up.  Again  I  had  the  sensation  that 
Deeming  was  near  me,  was  intent  upon  me, 
wanted  something  of  me,  and  with  this  sensa- 
tion was  mysteriously  linked  my  consciousness 
of  the  nearness  of  the  black  spaniel,  till — till 
the  two  sensations  seemed  to  merge  the  one  in- 
to the  other,  to  become  one,  in  some  indefinable, 
fantastic  way.  I  can  hardly  explain  exactly 
what  I  felt  at  this  moment,  but  my  feeling  was 
connected  with  Vernon's  workroom.  It  was 
as  if — as  if  I  almost  knew  that,  did  I  but  take 
those  few  steps  to  the  shut  door,  did  I  but  open 
that  door,  I  should  find  awaiting  me  within  the 
room  not  only  the  black  spaniel,  but  the  dead 
man,  Deeming,  with  it.  It  was  as  if — as 

if 

I  moved  across  the  hall,  walking  softly, 
reached  the  corridor,  gained  the  door,  stood  by 
it,  listening  for  the  uneasy  movement,  for  the 
whimper  of  a  dog,  for  the  stir,  for  the  mur- 
mur of  a  dead  man.  But  there  was  no  sound 
within.  There  was  no  sound,  and  yet  I  felt 
positive  that  the  spaniel  was  inside  the  room, 
separated  from  me  only  by  a  piece  of  wood. 
Once,  twice,  I  put  my  fingers  upon  the  handle 
of  the  door,  yet  refrained  from  turning  it. 
I  felt  a  strong  desire  to  open  the  door,  yet 
at  the  critical  moment  I  was  held  back  from 
doing  so  by  an  imperious  reluctance  which 
seemed  to  me  to  be  physical,  as  if  my  body 
sickened  and  protested  against  what  my  mind 
told  it  to  do. 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

How  long  I  stood  thus  uncertainly  before 
the  door  I  do  not  know.  It  seemed  to  me  a 
very  long  time.  At  last — in  the  struggle  be- 
tween mind  and  body,  if  it  were  that — the 
body  conquered.  I  turned  to  move  away  with- 
out opening  the  door.  I  even  took  a  step  to- 
wards the  hall.  But  I  was  arrested  by  a  sound 
that  startled  me,  that  sent — I  could  not  tell 
why — a  chill  through  me. 

I  heard  the  scratching  of  a  dog  against  the 
inside  of  the  door. 

I  stood  still,  held  my  breath,  and  listened. 
The  scratching  was  repeated,  prolonged.  It 
was  gentle,  surreptitious  almost,  yet  insistent, 
a  summons  to  me  to  return. 

Again  my  body  sickened.  I  was  physically 
afflicted.  Nausea  seized  me.  But  now  my 
mind  rose  up  and  protested  against  the  condi- 
tion, against  the  domination  of  my  body,  like 
a  thing  angry  and  ashamed.  Suddenly  I  took 
a  resolution.  I  would  open  the  door  without 
delay  in  answer  to  the  appeal  of  the  black 
spaniel.  Swiftly  I  went  back  to  the  door, 
grasped  the  handle,  turned  it,  pushed.  The 
door  resisted  me.  It  was  locked.  As  I  real- 
ised this  I  heard  from  within  the  desolate 
whining  of  a  dog  imprisoned. 

"Luttrell!  Luttrell!" 

Vernon's  voice  called  to  me  from  above,  and 
at  the  same  time  I  heard  a  footstep.  Cragg 
was  coming  down.  I  moved  swiftly  back  into 
the  hall  and  met  him.  He  glanced  at  me  in- 

122 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

quiringly,  looked  down  the  passage,  then  at 
me  again.  His  face  for  an  instant  was  elo- 
quent with  inquiry — with — was  it  sympathy? 
Then  he  was  once  more  the  discreet  servant, 
saying  in  a  formal  voice — 

"Please  come  up,  Sir;  Mr.  Kersteven  will 
be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Vernon  met  me  on  the  landing  by  the  draw- 
ing-room door.  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  not 
well.  His  face  was  very  pale,  and  had  a  pe- 
culiar look,  as  if  the  skin  were  drawn  upward 
towards  the  wrinkled  forehead,  which  I  had 
sometimes  noticed  in  people  suffering  from 
prolonged  insomnia.  It  gave  a  horribly 
strained  appearance  to  his  countenance,  in 
which  the  eyes  looked  unnaturally  eager  and 
full  of  curious  observation. 

"Were  you  in  the  hall?  "  he  said,  taking  my 
hand  for  the  fraction  of  an  instant,  and  then 
dropping  it  as  if  with  relief. 

"  I  waited  in  the  hall,"  I  replied  evasively. 

"  You  were  there  then  while  Cragg  was  up 
here?" 

"  He  asked  me  to  wait  there,"  I  said. 
"  While  he  went  to  see  if  you  were  well  enough 
to  receive  me.  I'm  sorry  to  hear  you're  seedy." 

"  Oh,  it's  of  no  consequence.    Come  in." 

We  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

"  What's  been  the  matter? "  I  asked,  as  we 
sat  down. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I've  been  overworking, 
I  suppose." 

123 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  With  Gernham?  "  I  said. 

"  Gernham! " —he  looked  at  me  narrowly. 
"  You — have  you  seen  Gernham  to-day?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh." 

He  sat  silent  for  a  moment.  I  could  see 
that  he  was  hesitating  whether  to  tell  me  about 
his  breach  with  Gernham  or  not. 

"How  d'you  like  Gernham?"  he  said  at 
length.  "He  likes  you.  He  told  me  so." 

"  I  know  him  very  slightly,  but  one  can't 
help  respecting  such  a  genuine  fellow,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"  Genuine — yes,  he's  that." 

"  If  he  undertook  a  thing,  nothing  would 
stop  him  from  going  through  with  it." 

"You  think  so?" 

He  slightly  smiled. 

"  But  suppose  he  were  to  encounter  an  op- 
position as  thorough  as  his  own  attack?  What 
then?  " 

I  knew  at  once  that  he  was  thinking  of 
Gernham  and  himself. 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  there  would  be  a  battle 
royal." 

"A  battle  royal,  would  there?  Yes,  no 
doubt." 

With  the  last  words  his  interest  seemed  to 
fail  suddenly.  He  slightly  drooped  his  head, 
and  sat  like  one  listening  for  some  distant 
sound.  I  watched  him  closely.  Gernham's 
declaration  that  if  Vernon  were  maltreating 

m 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

the  spaniel  he  must  be  mentally  diseased  was 
present  in  my  mind.  I  was  looking  for  symp- 
toms that  would  guide  me  to  a  conclusion  one 
way  or  the  other.  I  saw  a  great  change  in 
Vernon — a  painful  change.  He  looked  like  a 
man  suffering  under  some  terrible  distress, 
which  had  altered,  for  the  time,  his  whole 
outlook  upon  life.  But  I  felt  that  I  was 
with  a  perfectly  sane  man.  As  I  regarded 
him  he  seemed  to  recover  his  consciousness 
of  my  presence,  glanced  up,  and  met  my 
scrutiny. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  said.  "  Why  do  you  look 
at  me  like  that?" 

I  felt  embarrassed. 

'  What's  Gernham  been  saying  to  you?  "  he 
added  sharply. 

"  Gernham  —  oh,  you  know  him,"  I  an- 
swered. '  You  know  where  his  heart  is,  with 
the  animals.  What  an  enthusiast  he  is!  " 

"  He's  been  talking  to  you  about  his  work 
then.  Well,  did  he  tell  you  that  we've  had  a 
quarrel,  he  and  I?  " 

"He  said  your  work  together  had  come  to 
a  stop,  for  the  moment.  Why  should  it?  " 

'Why?  Oh,  well,  sometimes  Gernham  is 
too  blunt,  says  more  than  he,  than  any  man 
ought  to  say  to  another.  There  is  a  limit  to 
frankness;  occasionally  he  oversteps  it.  He 
overstepped  it  with  me,  and  I  resented  it. 
Don't  you  think  I  was  right? " 

I  felt  that  he  was  being  strangely  insincere 
125 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

with  me  as  he  had  been  insincere  with  Gern- 
ham,  trying  to  raise  a  cloud  which  would  ob- 
scure the  reality  of  his  mind,  the  true  scope  of 
his  intentions. 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  two  such  men  as  you 
should  quarrel,"  I  answered.  "  Especially  if 
it  interrupts,  and  perhaps,  to  some  extent, 
cripples  a  splendid  work.  You  should  sink 
your  little  differences,  and  go  on  together, 
hand  in  hand,  to  further  the  noble  cause  you 
love." 

He  had  been  trying  to  play  me.  I  was  now 
trying  to  play  him.  Yet,  as  I  finished,  a  gen- 
uine warmth  came,  I  think,  into  my  voice.  It 
moved  him.  I  could  see  that,  for  he  looked  up 
at  me  as  if  demanding  my  sympathy.  Sud- 
denly I  felt  a  profound  pity  for  him,  a  pro- 
found desire  to  help  him.  But  how?  Against 
what? 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  be  friends  again,"  he 
said.  "  But  he  misunderstands  me,  and  you, 
Luttrell,  perhaps  you  misunderstand  me  too." 

"I!" 

"  Yes — you.  Are  you  sure  that,  in  these 
last  days,  you  have  never  had  any  cruel  sus- 
picions of  me?  Are  you  sure  you  have  not 
any  cruel  suspicions  of  me  now?  " 

"  If  I  had,  if  I  have,  you  could  easily  clear 
them  up,"  I  answered.  "  By  the  way,  how's 
the  dog  getting  on?  All  right?  " 

His  face  changed  at  once,  hardened. 

"Oh,  yes!  "he  said. 

126 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  should  like  to  have  another  look  at  him," 
I  said.  "Where  is  he?" 

"  He's  downstairs  in  the  study.  Didn't  you 
know  it?" 

"  I — I  did  think  I  heard  something  scratch- 
ing and  whining.  Why  do  you  keep  him  shut 
up?" 

"  He  hasn't  got  accustomed  to  being  with 
me  yet.  If  I  let  him  out  he  might  bolt." 

"Oh!" 

"  I  don't  wrant  to  have  spent  my  twelve 
pounds  for  nothing,"  he  added. 

His  face  had  hardened.  Now  his  voice  was 
hard  too — hard  and  fatal. 

"  May  I  have  a  look  at  him?  "  I  said. 

The  sense  of  mystery  was  returning  upon 
me.  I  tried  to  combat  it  by  speaking  bluntly, 
expressing  my  desire  plainly.  At  least,  I 
would  no  longer  deal  in  subterfuge.  Instead 
of  answering  my  question  he  said,  throwing  a 
curious,  wavering  glance  upon  me,  "  Are  you 
engaged  to-night?  " 

I  was,  but  I  said  at  once,  "I'm  entirely  at 
your  service,  Vernon." 

"  Dine  with  me,  then." 

"Here?" 

"  Yes,  here." 

"  Certainly." 

"  That's  right.  And  now  let's  have  some 
music.  I've  got  a  new  piano  since  last  year." 

We  spent  the  next  hour  with  Richard 
Strauss  and  Saint- Saens. 

127 


XI 


NIGHT  had  closed  in.  Vernon  and  I  were 
seated  opposite  to  one  another  at  the  oval 
dining-table.  Cragg  waited  upon  us.  Now 
and  then,  as  he  moved  softly  to  and  fro, 
I  glanced  at  him,  and  I  thought  I  detected 
in  his  well-trained  face  a  flicker  of  anxiety 
as  his  eyes  rested  upon  his  master,  a  flicker 
of  appeal  as  they  rested  upon  me.  It 
seemed  to  me  at  such  times  that  he  wanted 
me  to  do  something  to  help  Vernon,  that 
he  was  longing  to  have  a  word  with  me 
alone. 

The  dinner  was  excellent,  but  Vernon  ate 
scarcely  anything.  He  talked,  however,  a  good 
deal,  though  hardly  with  his  usual  nerve  and 
relish.  When  dessert  was  on  the  table,  he 
said — 

"  Bring  us  our  coffee  here,  Cragg;  at  least, 
one  black  coffee." 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  I  won't  take  it,"  Vernon  said  to  me.  "  I've 
been  sleeping  wretchedly  lately.  Morphia 
would  be  more  the  thing  for  me  than  coffee." 

"  I  knew  you  had  been  suffering  from  in- 


somnia." 


He  laughed  drearily. 

"  I  don't  look  up  to  much,  do  I? 

128 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

Cragg  brought  my  coffee  and  cigars. 

"You  can  leave  us  now,  Cragg;  go  and 
have  your  supper;  go  downstairs." 

The  man  looked  slightly  surprised,  but  said 
nothing  and  went  away. 

When  he  had  gone  Vernon  lit  a  cigar, 
puffed  out  some  rings  of  smoke,  watched  them 
curling  up  towards  the  ceiling,  then  said — 

"  You  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  the  spaniel, 
didn't  you? " 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

c  Well,  if  I  bring  him  in,  be  careful  with 
him,  will  you? " 

"  Careful  with  him!  Why?  Is  he  danger- 
ous?" 

"  I  don't  say  that.  But  he's  got  an  odd  tem- 
per. I  keep  him  muzzled." 

'  In  the  house?" 

(  Yes,  always.  I  don't  want  to  be  bitten. 
You  remember  how  Deeming  died?  Well,  I 
don't  want  to  die  like  that." 

His  mention  of  Deeming  gave  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  which  I  at  once  availed  myself. 

"  That  was  a  sad  business,"  I  said.  "  Did 
you  see  much  of  him  before  he  died,  as  you 
were  living  next  door?  " 

"  Oh,"  he  interrupted,  "  Deeming  was  not  a 
friendly  neighbour.  Do  you  know  that  I  took 
your  advice? " 

"What  advice?" 

"  To  get  into  his  house  as  a  patient." 

"You  really  did  that!" 
129 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

*  Yes.     One  morning,  as  he  never  invited 
me  in  as  a  friend,  I  went  in  as  a  patient." 

"  How  did  he  take  it?  " 

*  Well,  he  could  hardly  decline  to  treat  me. 
It  happened  that  I  was  really  unwell  at  the 
time,  so  I  had  a  good  excuse." 

"  And — and — your  strange  suspicions" — I 
was  almost  stammering,  conscious,  painfully 
conscious  of  my  own — "your  strange  suspi- 
cions— did  you  ever  find  out  whether  they  were 
justified? " 

"  They  were  justified,  fully  justified.  But 
the  dog  took  its  own  part  in  the  end  and  killed 
its  persecutor." 

I  felt  a  sensation  of  horror  take  hold  upon 
me. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  Deeming  was 
treating  his  spaniel  cruelly?  "  I  asked. 

"I  do.  He  had  the  mania  for  persecution 
that  I  suspected.  He  was  venting  it  upon  his 
dog.  The  servants  had  some  inkling  of  the 
truth,  especially  his  butler.  He  knew,  I  be- 
lieve,  all  that  was  going  on.  But — he  was 
well  paid,  very  well  paid." 

I  remembered  my  Sunday  morning  call,  and 
the  butler's  exclamation  when  the  fox-terrier 
ran  into  the  house. 

"  This  is  horrible,  Vernon,"  I  said.  "  Are 
you  sure  of  what  you  say?  " 

"  Quite  sure.  I  heard — well,  I  Heard  things 
at  night,  and  at  last  I  saw  the  dog." 

"  How?  " 

130 


"WHILE  I  WAS  THERE  DEEMING  CAME  BACK  UNEXPECTEDLY." 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"  I  got  into  the  house  when  Deeming  was 
out.  I  bribed  his  butler,  paid  him  more  than 
Deeming  did,  I  suppose.  Anyhow,  I  got  in. 
I  think  the  man  was  sympathetic;  was  anxious 
really  that  an  end  should  be  put  to  the  disgust- 
ing business.  I  burst  open  the  door  of  the 
room  in  which  the  spaniel  was  confined,  and 
then  I  saw — no  matter  what.  It  was  quite 
enough.  While  I  was  there  Deeming  came 
back  unexpectedly." 

"Good  God!"  I  exclaimed.  "What  a 
ghastly  situation! " 

"  It  was  not  exactly  pleasant.  I  saw  the 
man's  soul  naked  that  night — stark  naked.  It 
was  on  that  occasion  the  dog  bit  him." 

"Ouf!"Isaid. 

Again  nausea  seized  me. 

Vernon  looked  at  me  steadily. 

"  Don't  you  think  Deeming  deserved  any- 
thing he  got?  "  he  asked.  "  Anything  he  could 
ever  get? " 

"  But  he  was  mad — he  must  have  been  mad  I " 

"  I  suppose  that  sort  of  thing  is  what  might 
be  called  a  form  of  madness.  Unfortunately  a 
good  many  sane  people  have  it — people  as  sane 
as  you  or  I  in  all  other  respects." 

When  he  said  the  words  "or  I"  a  flush,  I 
think,  came  to  my  cheek.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
he  spoke  with  significance — as  if  he  knew  what 
Gernham  and  I  had  spoken  of  the  day  before. 

"  As  sane  as  you  or  I,"  he  repeated.  "  This 
work  I've  been  doing  with  Gernham  has 

131 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

opened  my  eyes  to  a  good  deal  in  human  na- 
ture that  they  were  shut  to  before.  I  once  said 
to  you  in  Rome,  to  you  and  Deeming,  that 
man's  cruelty  sprang  often  from  a  lack  of 
imagination.  Sometimes  it  springs  from  just 
the  opposite,  from  a  diseased  imagination 
that  lusts  for  gratification  in  ways  we  won't 
discuss." 

"  But  Deeming — that  he  should  be  such  a 
man,  he  whose  profession  it  was  to  make 
whole!" 

'  Yes,  that  made  the  thing  more  strange 
and,  to  him,  more  enticing." 

"  Enticing!  "  I  exclaimed. 

My  voice  was  full  of  the  bitterness  of  dis- 
gust mingled  with  incredulity  that  I  was  feel- 
ing. 

"  Just  that,"  he  said.  "  He  healed,  as  it 
were,  with  one  hand,  and  destroyed  with  the 
other.  Deeming  was  one  of  the  human  devils 
who  have  an  insatiable  craze  for  contrast. 
They  revel  in  virtue  because  it  is  so  different 
from  vice.  They  revel  in  vice  because  it  is  so 
different  from  virtue.  Deeming  quivered  with 
happiness  when  the  last  patient  was  gone 
and  he  could  steal  to  the  room  where  the 
spaniel " 

"Enough!     Enough!"  I  exclaimed.     "I 
won't  hear  any  more!    Thank  God  he's  dead! 
Thank  God  it's  all  over  now!      Why  did  you 
do  that?  "    Vernon  had  suddenly  laughed. 
<  132 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  I  repeated. 
"  What  is  there  to  laugh  at?  " 

"  I  was  laughing  at  your  certainty,  Luttrell, 
at  the  calm  assurance  with  which  we — poor, 
ignorant  beings  that  we  are — assert  this  or 
that  regarding  the  fate  of  a  soul,  without 
knowing  anything  of  the  purposes  of  the 
Creator." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  And  yet  you  say — '  Thank  God,  it's  all 
over  now! ' 

He  looked  at  me  so  strangely  that  I  was 
struck  to  silence.  I  opened  my  lips  to  speak, 
but,  while  his  eyes  were  upon  me,  I  could  say 
nothing.  He  made  me  feel  as  if,  indeed,  I 
were  plunged  in  a  profound  gulf  of  igno- 
rance, as  if  he  watched  me  there  from  some 
height  of  understanding,  of  knowledge. 

"  Now  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  spaniel,"  he  said. 

And  he  got  up  and  quietly  left  the  room. 

I  turned  in  my  chair  and  sat  facing  the  door. 
The  room  was  softly  lit  by  wax  candles,  and  on 
the  walls  were  the  pictures  of  gentleness,  of 
mercy,  of  goodness  and  adoration  which  had 
hung  upon  the  walls  of  Vernon's  dining-room 
in  Rome.  My  glance  ran  over  them,  while  my 
mind  dwelt  upon  the  horrors  of  Vernon's  nar- 
rative— horrors  that  seemed  all  the  greater  be- 
cause he  had  told  me  so  little,  had  left  my 
imagination  so  unfettered.  Then  I  looked 
again  towards  the  door,  and  listened  intently. 
Presently  I  heard  a  door  shut,  the  sound  of  a 

133 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL 

step.  Vernon  was  coming  with  the  spaniel.  I 
had  asked  to  see  the  dog;  I  had  wished  to  see 
it.  Yet  now  my  wish  was  about  to  be  gratified 
I  felt  an  extreme  repugnance  invade  me.  I 
longed  to  escape  from  the  fulfilment  of  my 
wish.  I  was  seized  with — was  it  fear?  It  was 
something  cold,  something  that  lay  upon  my 
nerves  like  ice,  that  surely  turned  the  blood  in 
my  veins  to  water.  But,  I  could  do  nothing 
now,  nothing  to  escape.  Something  within 
me  seemed  to  make  a  furious  effort  to  take  up 
some  weapon  and  attack  the  cold  heavy  thing 
that  was  striving  to  paralyse  me.  I  was  con- 
scious of  battle.  In  the  midst  of  the  battle  the 
door  opened  and  Vernon  came  in. 

He  was  carrying  the  black  spaniel  in  his 
arms. 

He  walked  in  slowly,  kicked  the  door  back- 
wards with  his  heel  to  shut  it,  came  to  the  table 
and  sat  down,  still  keeping  the  dog  in  his  arms. 

The  dog  was  muzzled,  and  had  on  a  collar 
to  which  a  steel  chain  was  attached;  but,  for 
the  first  moment,  the  only  thing  that  struck  me 
was  his  thinness.  He  was  excessively  thin — al- 
most emaciated.  He  sat  on  his  master's  knee, 
with  his  chin  on  the  edge  of  the  table  and  his 
yellow  eyes  gazing  at  me.  .A  long  trembling 
ran  through  his  body,  ceased,  and  was  renewed 
with  a  regularity  that  reminded  me  of  the  tick- 
ing of  a  clock.  Vernon  kept  his  two  hands  up- 
on the  spaniel.  They  shuddered  on  the  dog's 
back  when  he  shuddered. 

134 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

"Well,"  Vernon  said.  ".What  do  you 
think  of  him? " 

"  He's  horribly  thin,"  I  said.    "  Horribly." 

I  turned  my  eyes  from  the  spaniel  to  Ver- 
non's  face. 

"  Do  you  think "  I  began  and  hesitated. 

"  What?  "  he  asked  calmly. 

"Do  you  think  you  give  him  enough  to 
eat? "  I  said. 

"  Oh,  it's  very  bad  for  dogs  to  overfeed," 
he  answered.  "Nothing  ruins  their  health 
like  overeating,  and  spaniels  are  like  pugs,  in- 
clined to  be  greedy." 

I  noticed  that  he  had  not  answered  my  ques- 
tion. 

He  lifted  one  hand,  laid  it  on  the  spaniel's 
head,  and  smoothed  the  black  hair,  moving  his 
hand  backwards  to  the  neck.  The  dog  turned 
its  head  back  towards  him  and  showed  his 
white  teeth,  as  if  his  master's  hand  drew  him 
but  to  a  demonstration  of  hatred,  not  of  affec- 
tion. Vernon  smiled,  lifted  his  hand,  and  re- 
peated the  action.  The  dog  gave  a  low  growl 
ending  in  a  whine. 

"  Now  you  haven't  told  me  what  you  think 
of  him,"  Vernon  continued,  "  and  I  want  to 
know.  I  want  very  much  to  know." 

I  looked  into  the  spaniel's  eyes,  and  again 
something  cold  lay  upon  my  nerves  like  ice. 

"Why?"  I  said.  "What  does  it  matter 
what  I  think? " 

135 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

"Do  answer  my  question!"  Vernon  said 
with  unwonted  irritation. 

"  There's  something  about  the  dog,"  I  said, 
"  that's— that's- 

"  Yes?  "  he  said  sharply. 

"  That's  uncanny." 

"  Ah!  "  The  word  was  a  long-drawn  sigh. 
"You  think  that!" 

"  Yes,  I  shouldn't  care  to  have  him  about 
me.  I  shouldn't  care  to  sleep  with  him  in  my 


room." 


"Sleep!    Heaven  forbid!" 

His  exclamation  was  almost  shrill.  It 
startled  me. 

"Where  does  the  dog  sleep?"  I  asked. 
"  Where  do  you  put  him  at  night?  " 

"  There's  a  dressing-room  opening  out  of 
my  bedroom.  He's  shut  in  there." 

"  And  you — you  say  you've  been  sleeping 
badly  lately? " 

"  I  haven't  been  sleeping  at  all." 

"  Does  he  whine?    Does  he  disturb  you?  " 

"  He  never  makes  a  sound  at  night.  I  think 
he's  afraid  that  if  he  did  I  should  punish  him. 
He's  evidently  had  an  unkind  master,  poor 
fellow." 

There  was  something  so  hideously  insincere 
in  Vernon's  voice  as  he  said  the  last  words  that 
I  could  not  help  expressing  the  thought,  the 
suspicion  that  had  been,  that  was  haunting 
me. 

"  Has  he  got  a  kind  master  now?  "  I  said. 
136 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  fixed  my  eyes  on  Vernon's. 

"  Has  he?  "  I  repeated. 

At  that  moment  I  wanted  to  force  things. 
The  entrance  of  the  dog  had  deepened  my 
sense  of  moving  in  mystery  until  it  became  ab- 
solutely intolerable.  A  hard  determination 
took  hold  upon  me  to  compel  Vernon  to  ex- 
plain— what?  I  did  not  know.  But  that  there 
was  something  to  be  explained,  some  strange 
undercurrent  of  motive,  of  desire,  of  intention, 
deep  and  furtive,  I  seemed  to  be  aware. 

"  'What  do  you  mean? "  Vernon  said. 
"  Surely  you  know  my  feeling  for  animals." 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  as  regards  this  animal,  this 
spaniel,  I  don't — I  can't  trust  you,"  I  said. 
"  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  I  don't  understand,  I 
don't  understand  anything.  But  I  don't  trust 
you,  Vernon.  That's  the  truth.  It's  best  to 
speak  it." 

To  my  great  surprise,  he  did  not  indignant- 
ly resent  my  words,  nor  did  he  look  guilty  or 
ashamed.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that  an  ex- 
pression of  something  like  relief  flitted  across 
his  face  as  I  finished  speaking. 

"  I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  quite  well 
you  didn't  trust  me.  And  Gernham?  Have 
you  spoken  to  him  of  your  mistrust? " 

"He  knows  I  don't  understand  why  you 
bought  this  dog,  and  what  you're  going  to  do 

137 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

to  him.     He  knows  I'm — I'm  afraid  of — of 
what  you  may  be  going  to  do." 

He  was  silent,  and  again  drew  his  hand 
across  the  spaniel's  soft  black  coat.  The  dog 
struggled.  He  struck  his  open  hand  down  on 
the  dog's  head,  and  the  dog  lay  still,  cowering 
upon  his  master's  knees. 

"  Gernham  doesn't  enter  into  this,"  he  said 
inflexibly. 

"And  I?" 

'You!  That's  different.  You  introduced 
me  to  Deeming." 

Again  the  dog  began  to  struggle  upon  his 
knees,  but  this  time  more  violently. 

Vernon  lifted  his  hand  again. 

"  Put  him  down !  "  I  said.  "  For  God's  sake 
put  him  down!  Don't  strike  him!  " 

"  Very  well." 

He  dropped  the  spaniel  to  the  floor.  The 
spaniel  ran  under  the  dining-table.  I  sprang 
up  from  my  seat. 

"Don't,  don't!  "I  began. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Vernon.  "  I've  got  him 
by  the  chain."  He  dragged  the  spaniel  out, 
and  fastened  him  up  to  the  sideboard  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room. 

"Why,  you're  trembling!"  he  said,  as  he 
came  back  to  his  chair. 

"Am  I?"  I  said,  ashamed,  "I'm  not  a 
coward,  but — but  this  dog — I  can't  stand  him 
near  me,  close  to  me,  when  I  can't  see  what 
he's  doing." 

138 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

I  cleared  my  throat,  went  to  the  window, 
threw  it  open,  leaned  out,  and  spat.  Leaving 
the  window  open,  I  came  back  to  the  table. 
The  spaniel  was  now  lying  down  on  the  floor, 
close  to  the  sideboard. 

'What  is  it?"  I  said,  almost  fiercely,  I 
think,  in  my  inexplicable  physical  distress, 
"  what  is  it  that's  wrong  with  the  dog?  What 
is  it  that's  unnatural  about  him?  " 

"  You  have  no  idea?  "  said  Vernon. 

"  Not  the  slightest.  The  poor  beast  seems 
harmless  enough,  though  he's  terrified.  One 
can  see  that." 

"  Exactly.    He  is  terrified." 

"And  the  strange  thing  is  that  his  terror 
terrifies  me." 

"  Now  you're  getting  to  it,"  Vernon  said. 
'  Why  should  the  spaniel  be  terrified?  " 

"Why?  How  should  I  know?  Isn't  that 
for  you  to  say?  " 

"Sit  down  again,"  he  said.  "  The  dog  can't 
get  to  you  now." 

As  he  spoke,  he  sat  down.  I  glanced  to- 
wards the  dog,  saw  that  what  Vernon  had  said 
was  true,  and  followed  his  example. 

"  The  dog's  terror,"  he  said.  "  Think  of 
that,  Luttrell!  Seek  for  an  explanation  in 
that." 

"  I  have,  but  I  haven't  found  one." 

"  Whom  is  it  terrified  of?  " 

"  Of  you,"  I  answered.    "  The  first  time  we 

139 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL' 

saw  him,  I  noticed  that  he  was  abjectly:  terri- 
fied of  you." 

"  Perfectly  true.  Why  should  that  be?  Is 
it  natural? " 

"  Utterly  unnatural,"  I  said.  "  Unless  he's 
been  badly,  brutally  treated,  and  is  afraid  of 
everybody." 

"  He  is  not  afraid  of  everybody.  He  is  only 
afraid  of  me.  Was  he  afraid  of  Lord  Elyn?  " 

"  No." 

"  He  is  only  afraid  of  me." 

"  Are  you  certain?  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  test  it? " 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  I  will  leave  the  room  for  a  moment — leave 
y;ou  alone  with  the  dog." 
'  "No!  "I  exclaimed. 

6  You  are  afraid?  " 

"  I'm  not  a  coward,  but  there's  something 
about  this  spaniel  which  horrifies  my  imagina- 
tion as  a  spectre  might  horrify  it." 

"  Nevertheless,  you  must  summon  your 
courage.  I  wish  it.  I  wish  to  know  how  the 
spaniel  will  be  with  you  when  you  are  alone  to- 
gether. Come,  make  the  experiment." 

He  got  up  and  went  towards  the  door.  I  did 
not  try  to  keep  him. 

"  I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,"  he  said. 

And  he  went  softly  out  of  the  room  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him. 

When  he  had  gone,  I  sat  where  I  was,  look- 
ing at  the  black  blot  on  the  floor  by  the  side- 

140 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

board.  A  strong  curiosity  was  awake  in  me 
fighting  my  strange  physical  repulsion.  I 
longed  to  put  the  thing  to  the  test,  yet  I  feared 
to  approach  the  spaniel.  How  long  I  sat  there 
I  do  not  know,  how  long  I  might  have  sat 
there  I  cannot  tell  had  nothing  occurred  to  bias 
me  towards  action.  But  something  did  occur. 
The  spaniel  suddenly  whimpered  softly,  as  if 
to  attract  my  attention,  whimpered  again  and 
struck  his  feathery  tail  upon  the  floor.  Those 
natural  sounds  of  an  anxious  dog  reassured 
me.  I  got  up  quickly  and  went  over  to  the 
sideboard.  Instantly,  with  a  sort  of  strangled 
wail,  the  spaniel  sprang  up,  put  his  forepaws 
on  my  legs,  and  thrust  his  hot  nose  into  my 
hand,  pushing,  pushing  hard,  as  if  he  sought 
to  hide  himself  in  a  friendly  shelter.  I  felt  a 
wetness  on  my  hand,  the  wetness  of  an  ani- 
mal's tears.  Then  all  my  horror  vanished  and 
only  pity  remained.  I  knelt  down  on  the  car- 
pet. I  put  my  arms  round  the  dog.  I  felt  his 
trembling  body  with  my  hands.  He  was  thin, 
hideously  thin.  His  piteous  eyes  begged  some- 
thing of  me.  Still  holding  him  with  one  arm, 
I  stretched  out  the  other,  and  opened  a  door  in 
the  sideboard.  Within  I  saw  a  basket  with 
some  cut  bread  in  it.  I  took  out  the  bread.  The 
spaniel  sprang  upon  it  passionately,  tore  it  out 
of  my  hand,  and  devoured  it  ravenously.  Then 
a  wave  of  hot  indignation  went  over  me.  At 
that  moment  I  hated  Vernon  with  all  my  soul. 
I  hated  him  so  much  that  I  lost  all  sense  of 

141 


THE   BLACK    SPANIEL 

everything  except  my  fury  against  him.  I 
held  the  dog  tightly  as  I  knelt  on  the  floor,  and, 
turning  my  head  towards  the  door,  I  called 
out — 

"Vernon!    Vernon!" 

Instantly  the  door  opened  and  Vernon  ap- 
peared. The  dog  looked  as  he  had  looked 
when  he  was  being  brought  into  the  house. 

"  Vernon,"  I  said,  "  you're  a  d d  black- 
guard! " 

"Why?"  he  said. 

"  This  dog  is  starving.  You're  starving 
him!  D'you  hear?  You're  starving  him!" 

"  I  know  I  am,"  he  answered. 

I  got  up.  The  spaniel  rushed  against  my 
legs  and  leaned  against  them  as  I  stood. 

"  Then  Gernham  was  right,"  I  said.  *  You 
are  a  madman." 

"  Is  it  madness  to  see  what  is  when  others 
are  blind  to  it?  " 

"To  see— to  see?"  I  exclaimed.  'What 
is  there  to  see  but  this  dog,  this  spaniel  that 
you  are  torturing? " 

"  There  is  this  spaniel — yes.  Look  at  him. 
Look  into  his  eyes.  Look  at  the  soul  in  them." 

There  was  something  compelling,  some- 
thing almost  mystical,  in  his  voice.  I  looked 
down  into  the  yellow  eyes  of  the  spaniel. 
They  met  mine,  then  looked  away  from  mine 
as  if  unable  to  bear  my  gaze. 

"•  What  is  it?  "  1  said,  in  a  whisper.  "  What 
is  it?" 


THE   BLACK   SPANIEL1 

Again  I  was  assailed  by  the  sensation  which 
had  come  to  me  when  I  waited  in  the  hall  to 
know  if  Vernon  would  receive  me,  a  sensation 
that,  with  the  black  spaniel,  linked  with  it, 
mysteriously  mingled  with  it,  was  something 
of  the  man  who  was  dead — something  of 
Deeming. 

"  Deeming!  "  I  stammered.     "  Deeming!  " 

I  did  not  know  what  I  meant,  but  I  was 
compelled  to  pronounce  the  name  of  my 
friend. 

"  Deeming?  "  I  said  once  more,  looking  to- 
wards Vernon. 

"Don't  you  feel  that  he  is  here?"  said 
Vernon. 

"  But  he  is  dead." 

"  Don't  you  feel  that  He  is  here?  "  > 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  But  it  can't  be.  He  is 
dead." 

"  His  body  is  dead — yes.  But  his  soul,  is 
that  dead?" 

When  he  said  that,  I  understood  what  he 
meant,  and  I  recoiled  from  the  black  spaniel 
as  from  a  nameless  horror. 

'  Vernon !  "  I  said.    "  Vernon !  " 

"  Do  you  understand  now?  "  he  asked.  "  Do 
you  understand  why  I  bought  the  spaniel,  why 
I  have  kept  the  spaniel  here  in  the  house  where 
he  tortured  his  dog?  It  was  to  punish  him  as 
he  punished  it,  to  torture  him  as  he  tortured  it. 
Directly  I  saw  the  spaniel  crouching  down  in 
the  Park,  directly  I  looked  into  his  eyes,  I 

143 


THE    BLACK    SPANIEL 

knew.  Deeming  died  on  the  30th  of  June,  the 
spaniel  was  born  on  that  very  day.  The  soul 
of  the  dog-torturer  passed  at  the  death  of  the 
body  of  the  man  into  the  body  of  the  dog.  I 
am  not  mad — no.  I  am  only  just.  I  am  the 
instrument  of  the  justice  of  Providence. 
Deeming's  soul  has  been  sent  back  into  the 
world  to  pay  its  penalty.  And  I  am  here  to 
see  that  the  penalty  is  paid." 

There  was  blazing  in  his  eyes  the  light  which 
I  had  seen  in  them  for  the  first  time  in  the  res- 
taurant in  Rome,  the  light  which  had  made 
Deeming  say  that  in  Vernon  there  was  the 
spirit  of  a  black  fanatic. 

"  It's  not  true !  "  I  said.    "  It  can't  be  true !  " 

"  But  Lord  Elyn  has  felt  it,  Cragg  has  felt 
it,  you  have  felt  it — the  strangeness  of  the 
spaniel.  You  know  now,  you  know  that  what 
I  say  is  true.  Deny  that  you  know  it  is  true! 
Deny  it  then!" 

I  opened  my  lips  to  deny  it,  but  they  refused 
to  speak.  I  was  filled  with  a  horror  of  the 
imagination,  but  I  was  resolved  not  to  succumb 
to  it.  I  seized  the  steel  chain  that  was  attached 
to  the  collar  of  the  spaniel,  and  untied  it  from 
the  sideboard. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  Vernon 
sharply. 

"  Good-night,  Vernon,"  I  said,  trying  to 
keep  my  voice  calm;  "  I  am  going  to  take  the 
spaniel  with  me." 

As  I  spoke  I  moved  towards  the  door.  The 
144 


'I   WENT   OUT  INTO   THE   NIGHT   CARRYING   IT   IN   MY   ARMS.' 


THE    BLACEj    SP AN  Ti2iJ 

spaniel  slunk  along  beside  me,  with  its  belly 
close  to  the  floor,  trying  to  press  itself  against 
my  legs. 

"What!"  said  Yernon,  "to  happiness — 
to  affection !" 

I  was  close  to  the  door.  I  had  my  fingers 
upon  the  handle. 

"That!"  he  cried  with  violence.  "No! 
Rather  than  that,  let  it  end  now  and  here !  " 

He  made  a  rapid  movement;  the  spaniel 
howled  and  cowered  against  the  door.  I  heard 
the  crack  of  a  pistol-shot.  I  felt  the  chain 
leap  in  my  hand  as  the  spaniel  sprang  upwards 
and  fell  on  the  floor. 

I  bent  down,  touched  him,  turned  him  over. 

He  was  dead. 

Then  I  faced  Vernon. 

"  Murderer!  "  I  said.     "  Murderer!  " 

"  But — he  was  only  a  black  spaniel!  "  Ver- 
non said,  laying  the  revolver  down  on  the 
table. 

"Murderer!"  I  repeated. 

Then  I  lifted  up  the  corpse  of  the  spaniel, 
and  went  out  into  the  night  carrying  it  in  my 
arms. 


145 


THE   MISSION    OF    MR.    EU- 
STACE   GREYNE 


MRS.  EUSTACE  GREYNE  (pro- 
nounced Green)  wrinkled  her  fore- 
head— that  noble,  that  startling  forehead 
which  had  heen  written  about  in  the  news- 
papers of  two  hemispheres — laid  down  her 
American  Squeezer  pen,  and  sighed.  It  was 
an  autumn  day,  nipping  and  melancholy,  full 
of  the  rustle  of  dying  leaves  and  the  faint 
sound  of  muffin  bells,  and  Belgrave  Square 
looked  sad  even  to  the  great  female  novelist 
who  had  written  her  way  into  a  mansion  there. 
Fog  hung  about  with  the  policeman  on  the 
pavement.  The  passing  motor  cars  were  like 
shadows.  Their  stertorous  pantings  sounded 
to  Mrs.  Greyne's  ears  like  the  asthma  of  dying 
monsters.  She  sighed  again,  and  murmured  in 
a  deep  contralto  voice:  "  It  must  be  so."  Then 
she  got  up,  crossed  the  heavy  Persian  carpet 
which  had  been  bought  with  the  proceeds  of  a 
short  story  in  her  earlier  days,  and  placed  her 
forefinger  upon  an  electric  bell. 

Like  lightning  a  powdered  giant  came. 

"  Has  Mr.  Greyne  gone  out?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"Where  is  he?" 

:<  In  his  study,  ma'am,  pasting  the  last  of  the 
cuttings  into  the  new  album." 

Mrs.  Greyne  smiled.  It  was  a  pretty  pic- 
ture the  unconscious  six-footer  had  conjured 
up. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  Mr.  Greyne,"  she 
answered,  with  that  gracious,  and  even  curling 
suavity  which  won  all  hearts;  "but  I  wish  to 
see  him.  Will  you  ask  him  to  come  to  me  for  a 
moment?  " 

The  giant  flew,  silk-stockinged,  to  obey  the 
mandate,  while  Mrs.  Greyne  sat  down  on  a 
carved  oaken  chair  of  ecclesiastical  aspect  to 
await  her  husband. 

She  was  a  famous  woman,  a  personage,  this 
simply-attired  lady.  With  an  American 
Squeezer  pen  she  had  won  fame,  fortune,  and 
a  mansion  in  Belgrave  Square,  and  all  without 
the  sacrifice  of  principle.  Respectability  in- 
carnate, she  had  so  dealt  with  the  sorrows  and 
evils  of  the  world  that  she  had  rendered  them 
utterly  acceptable  to  Mrs.  Grundy,  Mr. 
Grundy,  and  all  the  Misses  Grundy.  People 
said  she  dived  into  the  depths  of  human  nature, 
and  brought  up  nothing  that  need  scandalise  a 
curate's  grandmother,  or  the  whole-aunt  of  an 
archdeacon;  and  this  was  so  true  that  she  had 
made  a  really  prodigious  amount  of  money. 
Her  large,  her  solid,  her  unrelenting  books  lay 
upon  every  table.  Even  the  smart  set  kept 
them,  uncut — like  pretty  sinners  who  have 

148 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

never  been  "  found  out " — to  give  an  air  of 
hap-hazard  intellectuality  to  frisky  boudoirs. 
All  the  clergy,  however  unable  to  get  their 
tithes,  bought  them.  All  bishops  alluded  to 
them  in  "  pulpit  utterances."  Fabulous  prices 
were  paid  for  them  by  magazine  editors.  They 
ran  as  serials  through  all  the  tale  of  months. 
The  suburbs  battened  on  them.  The  provinces 
adored  them.  Country  people  talked  of  no 
other  literature.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Eustace  Greyne 
was  a  really  fabulous  success. 

Why,  then,  should  she  heave  these  Heavy 
sighs  in  Belgrave  Square?  Why  should  she 
lift  an  intellectual  hand  as  though  to  tousle 
the  glossy  chestnut  bandeaux  which  swept  back 
from  her  forcible  forehead,  and  screw  her  re- 
assuring features  into  these  wrinkles  of  per- 
plexity and  distress? 

The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Eustace  Greyne 
appeared,  "  What  is  it,  Eugenia?  "  upon  his 
lips. 

Mr.  Greyne  was  a  number  of  years  younger 
than  his  celebrated  wife,  and  looked  even 
younger  than  his  years.  He  was  a  very  smart 
man,  with  smooth,  jet-black  hair,  which  he 
wore  parted  in  the  middle ;  pleasant,  dark  eyes 
that  could  twinkle  gently;  a  clear,  pale  com- 
plexion; and  a  nice,  tall  figure.  One  felt,  in 
glancing  at  him,  that  he  had  been  an  Eton 
boy,  and  had  at  least  thought  of  going  into 
the  militia  at  some  period  of  his  life.  His  his- 
tory can  be  briefly  told. 

149 


THE   MISSION   OF 

Scarcely  had  he  emerged  into  the  world  be- 
fore he  met  and  was  married  to  Mrs.  Eustace 
Greyne,  then  Miss  Eugenia  Hannibal-Barker. 
He  had  had  no  time  to  sow  a  single  oat,  wild 
or  otherwise;  no  time  to  adore  a  barmaid,  or 
wish  to  have  his  name  linked  with  that  of  an 
actress ;  no  time  to  do  anything  wrong,  or  even 
to  know,  with  the  complete  accuracy  desired 
by  all  persevering  young  men,  what  was  real- 
ly wrong.  Miss  Eugenia  Hannibal-Barker 
sailed  upon  his  horizon,  and  he  struck  his  flag 
to  matrimony.  Ever  since  then  he  had  been 
her  husband,  and  had  never,  even  for  one  sec- 
ond, emerged  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the 
most  intellectual  respectability.  He  was  the 
most  innocent  of  men,  although  he  knew  all 
the  important  editors  in  London.  Swaddled 
in  money  by  his  successful  wife,  he  considered 
her  a  goddess.  She  poured  the  thousands  into 
Coutts'  Bank,  and  with  the  arrival  of  each 
fresh  thousand  he  was  more  firmly  convinced 
that  she  was  a  goddess.  To  say  he  looked  up 
to  her  would  be  too  mild.  As  the  Cockney 
tourist  in  Chamounix  peers  at  the  summit  of 
Mont  Blanc,  he  peered  at  Mrs.  Greyne.  And 
when,  finally,  she  bought  the  lease  of  the  man- 
sion in  Belgrave  Square,  he  knew  her  Delphic. 

So  now  he  appeared  in  the  oracle's  retreat 
respectfully,  "  What  is  it,  Eugenia?  "  upon  his 
admiring  lips. 

"  Sit  down,  my  husband,"  she  murmured. 

Mr.  Greyne  subsided  by  the  fire,  placing 
150 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

his  pointed  patent-leather  toes  upon  the  bur- 
nished fender.  Without  the  fog  grew  deeper, 
and  the  chorus  of  the  muffin  bells  more  plain- 
tive. The  fire-light,  flickering  over  Mrs. 
Greyne's  majestic  features,  made  them  look 
Rembrandtesque.  Her  large,  oxlike  eyes  were 
fixed  and  thoughtful.  After  a  pause,  she 
said: 

"  Eustace,  I  shall  have  to  send  you  upon  a 


mission." 


"  A  mission,  Eugenia !  "  said  Mr.  Greyne 
in  great  surprise. 

"  A  mission  of  the  utmost  importance,  the 
utmost  delicacy." 

"  Has  it  anything  to  do  with  Romeike  & 
Curtice?" 

"  No." 

:<  Will  it  take  me  far?" 

"  That  is  my  trouble.  It  will  take  you  very 
far." 

"Out  of  London?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Out  of— not  out  of  England?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  will  take  you  to  Algeria." 

"  Good  gracious !  "  cried  Mr.  Greyne. 

Mrs.  Greyne  sighed. 

"Good  gracious!"  Mjr.  Greyne  Repeated 
after  a  short  interval.  "  Am  I  to  go  alone?  " 
"  Of  course  you  must  take  Darrell."  Dar- 
rell  was  Mr.  Greyne's  valet. 

"  And  what  am  I  to  do  at  Algiers?  " 

"  You  must  obtain  for  me  there  the  whole 
151 


THE   MISSION   OF 

of  the  material  for  book  six  of  c  Catherine's 
Repentance.' '  "  Catherine's  Repentance  " 
was  the  gigantic  novel  upon  which  Mrs. 
Greyne  was  at  that  moment  engaged. 

"  I  will  not  disguise  from  you,  Eustace," 
continued  Mrs.  Greyne,  looking  increasingly 
Rembrandtesque,  "  that,  in  my  present  work, 
I  am  taking  a  somewhat  new  departure." 

'  Well,  but  we  are  very  comfortable  here," 
said  Mr.  Greyne. 

With  each  new  book  they  had  changed 
their  abode.  "  Harriet "  took  them  from 
Phillimore  Gardens  to  Queensgate  Terrace; 
"  Jane's  Desire  "  moved  them  on  to  a  corner 
house  in  Sloane  Street;  with  "  Isobel's  For- 
tune "  they  passed  to  Curzon  Street;  "  Susan's 
Vanity"  landed  them  in  Coburg  Place;  and, 
finally,  "  Margaret's  Involution  "  had  planted 
them  in  Belgrave  Square.  Now,  with  each 
of  these  works  of  genius  Mrs.  Greyne  had 
taken  what  she  called  "  a  new  departure."  Mr. 
Greyne's  remark  is,  therefore,  explicable. 

"  True.    Still,  there  is  always  Park  Lane." 

She  mused  for  a  moment.  Then,  leaning 
more  heavily  upon  the  carved  lions  of  her  chair, 
she  continued : 

"  Hitherto,  although  I  have  sometimes  dealt 
with  human  frailty,  I  have  treated  it  gently. 
I  have  never  betrayed  a  Zola-spirit." 

"Zola!  My  darling!"  cried  Mr.  Eustace 
Greyne.  "  You  are  surely  not  going  to  betray 
anything  of  that  sort  now!  " 

152 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"  If  she  does  we  shall  soon  have  to  move 
off  to  West  Kensington,"  was  his  secret 
thought. 

"  No.  But  in  book  six  of  c  Catherine '  I 
have  to  deal  with  sin,  with  tumult,  with  Afri- 
can frailty.  It  is  inevitable." 

She  sighed  once  more.  The  burden  of  the 
new  book  was  very  heavy  upon  her. 

"African  frailty!"  murmured  the  aston- 
ished Eustace  Greyne. 

"  Now,  neither  you  nor  I,  my  husband,  know 
anything  about  this." 

"  Certainly  not,  my  darling.  How  should 
we?  We  have  never  explored  beyond  Lu- 


cerne." 


*  We  must,  therefore,  get  to  know  about 
it — at  least  you  must.  For  I  cannot  leave 
London.  The  continuity  of  the  brain's  travel- 
ling must  not  be  imperiled  by  any  violent  bodi- 
ly activity.  In  the  present  stage  of  my  book  a 
sea  journey  might  be  disastrous." 

"  Certainly  you  should  keep  quiet,  my  love. 
But  then 

"  You  must  go  for  me  to  Algiers.  There 
you  must  get  me  what  I  want.  I  fear  you 
will  have  to  poke  about  in  the  native  quarters 
a  good  deal  for  it,  so  you  had  better  buy  two 
revolvers,  one  for  yourself  and  one  for  Dar- 
rell." 

Mr.  Greyne  gasped.  The  calmness  of  his 
wife  amazed  him.  He  was  not  intellectual 
enough  to  comprehend  fully  the  deep  imag- 

153 


THE   MISSION   OF 

inings  of  a  mighty  brain,  the  obsession  work  is 
in  the  worker. 

"  African  frailty  is  what  I  want,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Greyne.  "  One  hundred  closely-printed 
pages  of  African  frailty.  You  will  collect  for 
me  the  raw  material,  and  I  shall  so  manipulate 
it  that  it  will  fall  discreetly,  even  elevatingly, 
into  the  artistic  whole.  Do  you  understand 
me,  Eustace? " 

"  I  am  to  travel  to  Algiers,  and  see  all  the 
wickedness  to  be  seen  there,  take  notes  of  it, 
and  bring  them  back  to  you." 

"  Precisely." 

"  And  how  long  am  I  to  stay?  " 

"  Until  you  have  made  yourself  acquainted 
with  the  depths." 

"A  fortnight?" 

"  I  should  think  that  would  be  enough. 
Take  Brush's  remedy  for  seasickness  and 
plenty  of  antipyrin,  your  fur  coat  for  the 
crossing,  and  a  white  helmet  and  umbrella  for 
the  arrival.  You  have  lead  pencils?  " 

"  Plenty." 

"  A  couple  of  Merrin's  exercise-books  should 
be  enough  to  contain  your  notes." 
'  When  am  I  to  go?  " 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  I  am  at  a  standstill 
for  want  of  the  material.  You  might  catch  the 
express  to  Paris  to-morrow;  no,  say  the  day 
after  to-morrow."  She  looked  at  him  tender- 
ly. "  The  parting  will  be  bitter." 

"  Yery  bitter,"  Mr.  Eustace  Greyne  replied. 
154 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

He  felt  really  upset.  Mrs.  Greyne  laid  the 
hand  which  had  brought  them  from  Phillimore 
Gardens  to  Belgrave  Square  gently  upon  his. 

"Think  of  the  result,"  she  said.  "The 
greatest  book  I  have  done  yet.  A  book  that 
will  last.  A  book  that  will— 

"  Take  us  to  Park  Lane,"  he  murmured. 

The  Rembrandtesque  head  nodded.  The 
noble  features,  as  of  a  strictly  respectable  Ro- 
man emperor,  relaxed. 

"  A  book  that  will  take  us  to  Park  Lane." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the 
footman  inquired: 

"  Could  Mademoiselle  Verbena  see  you  for 
a  minute,  ma'am? " 

Mademoiselle  Verbena  was  the  French  gov- 
erness of  the  two  little  Greynes.  The  great 
novelist  had  consented  to  become  a  mother. 

"  Certainly." 

In  another  moment  Mademoiselle  Verbena 
was  added  to  the  group  beside  the  fire. 


155 


THE   MISSION   OF 


II 

WE  have  said  that  Mademoiselle  Verbena 
was  the  French  governess  of  little  Adolphus 
and  Olivia  Greyne,  and  so  she  was  to  this 
extent — that  she  taught  them  French,  and 
that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greyne  supposed  her  to 
be  a  Parisian.  But  life  has  its  little  ironies. 
Mademoiselle  Verbena  in  the  house  of  this 
great  and  respectable  novelist  was  one  of  them; 
for  she  was  a  Levantine,  born  at  Port  Said  of 
a  Suez  Canal  father  and  a  Suez  Canal  mother. 
Now,  nobody  can  desire  to  say  anything 
against  Port  Said.  At  the  same  time,  few 
mothers  would  inevitably  pick  it  out  as  the 
ideal  spot  from  which  a  beneficent  influence 
for  childhood's  happy  hour  would  be  certain 
to  emanate.  Nor,  it  must  be  allowed,  is  a  Suez 
Canal  ancestry  specially  necessary  to  a  trainer 
of  young  souls.  It  may  not  be  a  drawback, 
but  it  can  hardly  be  described  as  an  advantage. 
This,  Mademoiselle  Verbena  was  intelligent 
enough  to  know.  She,  therefore,  concealed 
the  fact  that  her  father  had  been  a  dredger  of 
Monsieur  de  Lesseps'  triumph,  her  mother  a 
bar-lady  of  the  historic  coal  wharf  where  the 
ships  are  fed,  and  preferred  to  suppose — and 
to  permit  others  to  suppose — that  she  had  first 

156 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

seen  the  light  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  her  par- 
ents being  a  count  and  countess  of  some  old 
regime. 

This  supposition,  retained  from  her  earliest 
years,  had  affected  her  appearance  and  her 
manner.  She  was  a  very  neat,  very  trim,  even 
a  very  attractive  little  person,  with  dark  brown, 
roguish  eyes,  blue-black  hair,  a  fairy-like  fig- 
ure, and  the  prettiest  hands  and  feet  imagin- 
able. She  had  first  attracted  Mrs.  Greyne's 
attention  by  her  devotion  to  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral, and  this  devotion  she  still  kept  up. 
Whenever  she  had  an  hour  or  two  free  she 
always — so  she  herself  said — spent  it  in  ff  ce 
charmant  St.  Paul." 

As  she  entered  the  oracle's  retreat  she  cast 
down  her  eyes,  and  trembled  visibly. 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Verbena?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Greyne,  with  a  kindly  English  accent,  calcu- 
lated to  set  any  poor  French  creature  quite  at 
ease. 

Mademoiselle  Verbena  trembled  more. 

"  I  have  received  bad  news,  madame." 

"  I  grieve  to  hear  it.    Of  what  nature? " 

"  Mamma  has  une  bronchite  ires  grave" 

"  A  what,  Miss  Verbena?  " 

"  Pardon,  madame.  A  very  grave  bron- 
chitis. She  cries  for  me." 

"Indeed!" 

"  The  doctors  say  she  will  die." 

1  This  is  very  sad." 

The  Levantine  wept.  Even  Suez  Canal  folk 
157 


THE   MISSION   OF 

are  not  proof  against  all  human  sympathy. 
Mr.  Greyne  blew  his  nose  beside  the  fire,  and 
Mrs.  Greyne  said  again : 

"  I  repeat  that  this  is  very  sad." 

"  Madame,  if  I  do  not  go  to  mamma  to- 
morrow I  shall  not  see  her  more." 

Mrs.  Greyne  looked  very  grave. 

"Oh!"  she  remarked.  She  thought  pro- 
foundly for  a  moment,  and  then  added:  "  In- 
deed!" 

"It  is  true,  madame." 

Suddenly  Mademoiselle  Verbena  flung  her- 
self  down  on  the  Persian  carpet  at  Mrs. 
Greyne's  large  but  well-proportioned  feet, 
and,  bathing  them  with  her  tears,  cried  in  a 
heartrending  manner: 

"  Madame  will  let  me  go!  madame  will  per- 
mit me  to  fly  to  poor  mamma — to  close  her 
dying  eyes — to  kiss  once  again 

Mr.  Greyne  was  visibly  affected,  and  even 
Mrs.  Greyne  seemed  somewhat  put  about,  for 
she  moved  her  feet  rather  hastily  out  of  reach 
of  the  dependant's  emotion,  and  made  her 
scramble  up. 

6  Where  is  your  poor  mother?  " 

"  In  Paris,  madame.  In  the  Rue  St.  Hon- 
ore,  where  I  was  born.  Oh,  if  she  should  die 
there!  If  she  should " 

Mrs.  Greyne  raised  her  hand,  commanding 
silence. 

1  You  wish  to  go  there?  " 

"  If  madame  permits." 
158 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"When?" 

"  To-morrow,  madame." 

"  To-morrow?    This  is  decidedly  abrupt." 

"  Mais  la  bronchite,,  madame,  she  is  abrupt, 
and  death,  she  may  be  abrupt." 

"True,    One  moment!" 

There  was  an  instant's  silence  for  Mrs. 
Greyne  to  let  loose  her  brain  in.  She  did  so, 
then  said: 

"  You  have  my  permission.  Go  to-morrow, 
but  return  as  soon  as  possible.  I  do  not  wish 
Adolphus  to  lose  his  still  uncertain  grasp  upon 
the  irregular  verbs." 

In  a  flood  of  grateful  tears  Mademoiselle 
Verbena  retired  to  make  her  preparations.  On 
the  morrow  she  was  gone. 

The  morrow  was  a  day  of  much  perplexity, 
much  bustle  and  excitement  for  Mr.  Greyne 
and  the  valet,  Darrell.  They  were  preparing 
for  Algiers.  In  the  morning,  at  an  early  hour, 
Mr.  Greyne  set  forth  in  the  barouche  with 
Mrs.  Greyne  to  purchase  African  necessaries: 
a  small  but  well-supplied  medicine  chest,  a  pith 
helmet,  a  white-and-green  umbrella,  a  Bae- 
deker, a  couple  of  Smith  &  Wesson  Spring- 
field revolvers  with  a  due  amount  of  cartridges, 
a  dozen  of  Merrin's  exercise-books — on  mature 
reflection  Mrs.  Greyne  thought  that  two  would 
hardly  contain  a  sufficient  amount  of  African 
frailty  for  her  present  purpose — a  packet  of 
lead  pencils,  some  bottles  of  a  remedy  for  sea- 
sickness, a  silver  flask  for  cognac,  and  various 

159 


THE   MISSION   OF 

other  trifles  such  as  travellers  in  distant  conti- 
nents require. 

Meanwhile  Darrell  was  learning  French 
for  the  journey,  and  packing  his  own  and  his 
master's  trunks.  The  worthy  fellow,  a  man  of 
twenty-five  summers,  had  never  been  across 
the  Channel — the  Greynes  being  by  no  means 
prone  to  foreign  travel — and  it  may,  therefore, 
be  imagined  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  consid- 
erable expectation  as  he  laid  the  trousers,  coats, 
and  waistcoats  in  their  respective  places,  se- 
lected such  boots  as  seemed  likely  to  wear  well 
in  a  tropical  climate,  and  dropped  those  shirts 
which  are  so  contrived  as  to  admit  plenty  of 
ventilation  to  the  heated  body  into  the  case 
reserved  for  them. 

When  Mr.  Greyne  returned  from  his  shop- 
ping excursion  the  barouche,  loaded  almost  to 
the  gunwale — if  one  may  be  permitted  a  nauti- 
cal expression  in  this  connection — had  to  be 
disburdened,  and  its  contents  conveyed  up- 
stairs to  Mr.  Greyne's  bedroom,  into  which 
Mrs.  Greyne  herself  presently  entered  to  give 
directions  for  their  disposing.  Nor  was  it  till 
the  hour  of  sunset  that  everything  was  in  due 
order,  the  straps  set  fast,  the  keys  duly  turned 
in  the  locks —  the  labels — "Mr.  Eustace 
Greyne:  Passenger  to  Algiers:  via  Marseilles" 
—carefully  written  out  in  a  full,  round  hand. 
Rook's  tickets  had  been  bought;  so  now  every- 
thing was  ready,  and  the  last  evening  in  Eng- 
land might  be  spent  by  Mr.  Greyne  in  the 

160 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

drawing-room  and  by  Darrell  in  the  servants' 
hall  quietly,  socially,  perhaps  pathetically. 

The  pathos  of  the  situation,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, appealed  more  to  the  master  than  to 
the  servant.  Darrell  was  very  gay,  and  inclined 
to  be  boastful,  full  of  information  as  to  how  he 
would  comport  himself  with  "  them  there 
Frenchies,"  and  how  he  would  make  "  them 
pore,  godless  Arabs  sit  up."  But  Mr.  Greyne's 
attitude  of  mind  was  very  different.  As  the 
night  drew  on,  and  Mrs.  Greyne  and  he  sat 
by  the  wood  fire  in  the  magnificent  drawing- 
room,  to  which  they  always  adjourned  after 
dinner,  a  keen  sense  of  the  sorrow  of  departure 
swept  over  them  both. 

"  How  lonely  you  will  feel  without  me,  Eu- 
genia," said  Mr.  Greyne.  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing of  that  all  day." 

"  And  you,  Eustace,  how  desolate  will  be 
your  tale  of  days!  My  mind  runs  much  on 
that.  You  will  miss  me  at  every  h6ur." 

4  You  are  so  accustomed  to  have  me  within 
call,  to  depend  upon  me  for  encouragement  in 
your  life-work.  I  scarcely  know  how  you  will 
get  on  when  I  am  far  across  the  sea." 

"  And  you,  for  whom  I  have  labored,  for 
whom  I  have  planned  and  calculated,  what  will 
be  your  sensations  when  you  realize  that  a 
gulf — the  Gulf  of  Lyons — is  fixed  irrevocably 
between  us? " 

So  their  thoughts  ran.  Each  one  was  full 
of  tender  pity  for  the  other.  Towards  bed- 

161 


THE   MISSION   OF 

time,  however,  conscious  that  the  time  for  col- 
loquy was  running  short,  they  fell  into  more 
practical  discourse. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Mr.  Greyne,  "  whether  I 
shall  find  any  difficulty  in  gaining  the  informa- 
tion you  require,  my  darling.  I  suppose  these 
places  "  —he  spoke  vaguely,  for  his  thoughts 
were  vague — "  are  somewhat  awkward  to  come 
at.  Naturally  they  would  avoid  the  eye  of 
day." 

Mrs.  Greyne  looked  profound. 

"  Yes.  Evil  ever  seeks  the  darkness.  You 
will  have  to  do  the  same." 

"  You  think  my  investigations  must  take 
place  at  night? " 

"  I  should  certainly  suppose  so." 

"  And  where  shall  I  find  a  cicerone?  " 

"  Apply  to  Rook." 

"  In  what  terms?  You  see,  dearest,  this  is 
rather  a  special  matter,  isn't  it? " 

"  Very  special.  But  on  no  account  hint  that 
you  are  in  Algiers  for  '  Catherine's  '  sake.  It 
would  get  into  the  papers.  It  would  be  cabled 
to  America.  The  whole  reading  world  would 
be  agog,  and  the  future  interest  of  the  book 
discounted." 

Mr.  Greyne  looked  at  his  wife  with  rever- 
ence. In  such  moments  he  realized,  almost  too 
poignantly,  her  great  position. 

"  I  will  be  careful,"  he  said.  '  What  would 
you  recommend  me  to  say?  " 

"  Well  " — Mrs.  Greyne  knit  her  superb 
162 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

forehead — "  I  should  suggest  that  you  present 
yourself  as  an  ordinary  traveler,  but  with  a 
specially  inquiring  bent  of  mind  and  a  slight 
tendency  towards  the — the — er — hidden  things 
of  life." 

"  I  suppose  you  wish  me  to  visit  the  public 
houses? " 

"  I  wish  you  to  see  everything  that  has  part 
or  lot  in  African  frailty.  Go  everywhere,  see 
everything.  Bring  your  notes  to  me,  and  I 
will  select  such  fragments  of  the  broken  com- 
mandments as  suit  my  purpose,  which  is,  as  al- 
ways, the  edifying  of  the  human  race.  Only 
this  time  I  mean  to  purge  it  as  by  fire." 

"  That  corner  house  in  Park  Lane,  next  to 
the  Duke  of  Ebury's,  would  suit  us  very 
well,"  said  Mr.  Greyne  reflectively. 

"We  could  sell  our  lease  here  at  an  advance," 
his  wife  rejoined.  "  You  will  not  waste  your 
journey,  Eustace? " 

"  My  love,"  returned  Mr.  Greyne  with  de- 
cision, "  I  will  apply  to  Rook  on  arrival,  and, 
if  I  find  his  man  unsatisfactory,  if  I  have  any 
reason  to  suspect  that  I  am  not  being  shown 
everything — more  especially  in  the  Kasbah 
region,  which,  from  the  guide-books  we  bought 
to-day,  is,  I  take  it,  the  most  abandoned  por- 
tion of  the  city — I  will  seek  another  cice- 


rone." 


"  Do  so.    And  now  to  bed.    You  must  sleep 
well  to-night  in  preparation  for  the  journey." 
It  was  their  invariable  habit  before  retiring 
163 


THE   MISSION    OF 

to  drink  each  a  tumbler  of  barley  water,  which 
was  set  out  by  the  butler  in  Mrs.  Greyne's 
study.  After  this  nightcap  Mrs.  Greyne 
wrote  up  her  anticipatory  diary,  while  Mr. 
Greyne  smoked  a  mild  cigar,  and  then  they 
went  to  bed.  To-night,  as  usual,  they  repaired 
to  the  sanctum,  and  drank  their  barley  water. 
Having  done  so,  Mr.  Greyne  drew  forth  his 
cigar-case,  while  Mrs.  Greyne  went  to  her  writ- 
ing-table, and  prepared  to  unlock  the  drawer 
in  which  her  diary  reposed,  safe  from  all  pry- 
ing eyes. 

The  match  was  struck,  the  key  was  inserted 
in  the  lock,  and  turned.  As  the  cigar  end 
glowed  the  drawer  was  opened.  Mr.  Greyne 
heard  a  contralto  cry.  He  turned  from  the 
arm-chair  in  which  he  was  just  about  to  seat 
himself. 

"  My  love,  is  anything  the  matter?  " 

His  wife  was  bending  forward  with  both 
hands  in  the  drawer,  telling  over  its  con- 
tents. 

"  My  diary  is  not  here!  " 

"Your  diary!" 

"  It  is  gone." 

"  But  "  —he  came  over  to  her — "  this  is  very 
serious.  I  presume,  like  all  diaries,  it  is  full 

of "  Instinctively  he  had  been  about  to 

say  "  damning " ;  he  remembered  his  dear 
one's  irreproachable  character  and  substituted 
"precious  secrets." 

"It  is  full  of  matter  which  must  never  be 
164 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

given  to  the  world — my  secret  thoughts,  my 
aspirations.  The  whole  history  of  my  soul  is 
there." 

"  Heavens!    It  must  be  found." 

They  searched  the  writing-table.  They 
searched  the  room.  No  diary. 

"  Could  you  have  taken  it  to  my  room,  and 
left  it  there?  "  asked  Mr.  Greyne. 

They  hastened  thither,  and  looked — in  vain. 
By  this  time  the  servants  were  gone  to  bed,  and 
the  two  searchers  were  quite  alone  on  the 
ground  floor  of  their  magnificent  mansion. 
Mrs.  Greyne  began  to  look  seriously  per- 
turbed. Her  Roman  features  worked. 

"  This  is  appalling,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Some 
thief,  knowing  it  priceless,  must  have  stolen 
the  diary.  It  will  be  published  in  America.  It 
will  bring  in  thousands — but  to  others,  not  to 


us." 


She  began  to  wring  her  hands.  It  was  near 
midnight. 

"  Think,  my  love,  think!  "  cried  Mr. Greyne. 
"  Where  could  you  have  taken  it?  You  had  it 
last  night?" 

"  Certainly.  I  remember  writing  in  it  that 
you  would  be  sailing  to  Algiers  on  the  General 
Bertrand  on  Thursday  of  this  week,  and  that 
on  the  night  I  should  be  feeling  widowed  here. 
The  previous  night  I  wrote  that  yesterday  I 
should  have  to  tell  you  of  your  mission.  You 
know  I  always  put  down  beforehand  what  I 
shall  do,  what  I  shall  even  think  on  each  suc- 

165 


THE   MISSION   OF 

ceeding  day.  It  is  a  practice  that  regulates  the 
mind  and  conduct,  that  helps  to  uniformity." 

"  How  true!  Who  can  have  taken  it?  Do 
you  ever  leave  it  about?  " 

"  Never.    Am  I  a  madwoman?  " 

"  My  darling,  compose  yourself!  We  must 
search  the  house." 

They  proceeded  to  do  so,  and,  on  coming 
into  the  schoolroom,  Mrs.  Greyne,  who  was  in 
front,  uttered  a  sudden  cry. 

Upon  the  table  of  Mademoiselle  Verbena 
lay  the  diary,  open  at  the  following  entry:— 

On  Thursday  next  poor  Eustace  will  be  on 
board  the  General  Bertrand,  sailing  for  Al- 
giers. I  shall  be  here  thinking  of  myself,  and 
of  him  in  relation  to  myself.  God  help  us  both. 
Duty  is  sometimes  stern.  Mem.  The  corner 
house  in  Park  Lane,  next  the  Duke  of 
Ebury's,  has  sixty  years  still  to  run;  the  lease, 
that  is.  Thursday — poor  Eustace! 

"What  does  this  portend?"  cried  Mrs. 
Greyne. 

"  My  darling,  it  passes  my  wit  to  imagine," 
replied  her  husband. 


166 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 


III 


THE  parting  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Greyne  on  the 
following  morning  was  very  affecting.  It  took 
place  at  Victoria  Station,  in  the  midst  of  a 
small  crowd  of  admiring  strangers,  who  had 
recognised  the  commanding  presence  of  the 
great  novelist,  and  had  gathered  round  to  ob- 
serve her  manifestations. 

Mrs.  Greyne  was  considerably  shaken  by  the 
event  of  the  previous  night.  Although,  on  the 
discovery  of  the  diary,  the  house  had  been 
roused,  and  all  the  servants  closely  questioned, 
no  light  had  been  thrown  upon  its  migration 
from  the  locked  drawer  to  the  schoolroom 
table.  Adolphus  and  Olivia,  jerked  from 
sleep  by  the  hasty  hands  of  a  maid,  could  only 
weep  and  wan.  The  powdered  footmen,  one 
and  all,  declared  they  had  never  heard  of  a 
diary.  The  butler  gave  warning  on  the  spot, 
keeping  on  his  nightcap  to  give  greater  effect 
to  his  pronunciamento.  It  was  all  most  unsat- 
isfactory, and  for  one  wild  moment  Mrs. 
Greyne  seriously  thought  of  retaining  her  hus- 
band by  her  as  a  protection  against  the  myster- 
ious thief  who  had  been  at  work  in  their  midst. 
Could  it  be  Mademoiselle  Verbena?  The 
dread  surmise  occurred,  but  Mr.  Greyne  re- 
jected it. 

167 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"  Her  father  was  a  count,"  he  said.  "  Be- 
sides, my  darling,  I  don't  believe  she  can  read 
English;  certainly  not  unless  it  is  printed." 

So  there  the  matter  rested,  and  the  moment 
of  parting  came. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  respectful  sympa- 
thy as  Mrs.  Greyne  clasped  her  husband  tend- 
erly in  her  arms,  and  pressed  his  head  against 
her  prune-coloured  bonnet  strings.  The 
whistle  sounded.  The  train  moved  on.  Lean- 
ing from  a  reserved  first-class  compartment, 
Mr.  Greyne  waved  a  silk  pocket-handkerchief 
so  long  as  his  wife's  Roman  profile  stood  out 
clear  against  the  fog  and  smoke  of  London. 
But  at  last  it  faded,  grew  remote,  took  on  the 
appearance  of  a  feebly-executed  crayon  draw- 
ing, vanished.  He  sank  back  upon  the  cush- 
ions— alone.  Darrell  was  travelling  second 
with  the  dressing-case. 

It  was  a  strange  sensation,  to  be  alone,  and 
en  route  to  Algiers.  Mr.  Greyne  scarcely 
knew  what  to  make  of  it.  A  schoolboy  sud- 
denly despatched  to  Timbuctoo  could  hardly 
have  felt  more  terribly  emancipated  than  he 
did.  He  was  so  absolutely  unaccustomed  to 
freedom,  he  had  been  for  so  long  without  the 
faintest  desire  for  it,  that  to  have  it  thrust  up- 
on him  so  suddenly  was  almost  alarming.  He 
felt  lonely,  anxious,  horribly  unmarried.  To 
divert  his  thoughts  he  drew  forth  a  Merrin's 
exercise-book  and  a  pencil,  and  wrote  on  the 
first  page,  in  large  letters,  ff  African  Frailty, 

168 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

Notes  for"  Then  he  sat  gazing  at  the  title 
of  his  first  literary  work,  and  wondering  what 
on  earth  he  was  going  to  see  in  Algiers. 

Vague  visions  of  himself  in  the  bars  of  Afri- 
can public-houses,  in  mosques,  in  the  two-pair- 
backs  of  dervishes,  in  bazaars — which  he  pic- 
tured to  himself  like  those  opened  by  royalties 
at  the  Queen's  Hall  —  in  Moorish  inte- 
riors surrounded  by  voluptuous  ladies  with 
large  oval  eyes,  black  tresses,  and  Turkish 
trousers  of  spangled  muslin,  flitted  before  his 
mental  gaze.  When  the  train  ran  upon  Dover 
Pier,  and  the  white  horses  of  the  turbulent 
Channel  foamed  at  his  feet,  he  started  as  one 
roused  from  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  sleep.  Severe 
illness  occupied  his  whole  attention  for  a  time, 
and  then  recovery. 

In  Paris  he  dined  at  the  buffet  like  one  in  a 
dream,  and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  came  forth 
to  take  the  rapide  for  Marseilles.  He  looked 
for  Darrell  and  the  dressing-case.  They  were 
not  to  be  seen.  There  stood  the  train.  Passen- 
gers were  mounting  into  it.  Old  ladies  with 
agitated  faces  were  buying  pillows  and  nib- 
bling biscuits.  Elderly  gentlemen  with  yellow 
countenances  and  red  ribands  in  their  coats 
were  purchasing  the  Figaro  and  the  Gil  Bias. 
Children  with  bare  legs  were  being  hauled  into 
compartments.  Rook's  agent  was  explaining 
to  a  muddled  tourist  in  a  tam-o'-shanter  the  ex- 
act difference  between  the  words  ff  Oui  "  and 
(f  Non"  The  bustle  of  departure  was  in  the 

169 


THE   MISSION   OF 

air,  but  Darrell  was  not  to  be  seen.  Mr. 
Greyne  had  left  him  upon  the  platform  with 
minute  directions  as  to  the  point  from  which 
the  train  would  start  and  the  hour  of  its  going. 
Yet  he  had  vanished.  The  most  frantic  search, 
the  most  frenzied  inquiries  of  officials  and  total 
strangers,  failed  to  elicit  his  whereabouts,  and, 
finally,  Mr.  Greyne  was  flung  forcibly  upward 
into  the  wagonlit,  and  caught  by  the  controleur 
when  the  train  was  actually  moving  out  of  the 
station. 

A  moment  later  he  fell  exhausted  upon  the 
pink-plush  seat  of  his  compartment,  realising 
his  terrible  position.  He  was  now  utterly 
alone;  without  servant,  hair-brushes,  tooth- 
brushes, razors,  sponges,  pajamas,  shoes.  It 
was  a  solitude  that  might  be  felt.  He  thought 
of  the  sea  journey  with  no  kindly  hand  to  min- 
ister to  him,  the  arrival  in  Africa  with  no  hum- 
ble companion  at  his  side,  to  wonder  with  him 
at  the  black  inhabitants  and  help  him  through 
the  customs — to  say  nothing  of  the  manners. 
He  thought  of  the  dread  homes  of  iniquity  in- 
to which  he  must  penetrate  by  night  in  search 
of  the  material  for  the  voracious  "  Catherine." 
He  had  meant  to  take  Darrell  with  him  to 
them  all — Darrell,  whose  joyful  delight  in  the 
prospect  of  exploring  the  Eastern  fastnesses 
of  crime  had  been  so  boyish,  so  truly  English 
in  its  frank,  its  even  boisterous  sincerity. 

And  now  he  was  utterly  alone,  almost  like 
Robinson  Crusoe. 

170 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

The  controleur  came  in  to  make  the  bed. 
Mr.  Greyne  told  him  the  dreadful  story. 

"  No  doubt  he  has  been  lured  away,  mon- 
sieur. The  dressing-case  was  of  value?  " 

"  Crocodile,  gold  fittings." 

"  Probably  monsieur  will  never  see  him 
again.  As  likely  as  not  he  will  sleep  in  the 
Seine  to-night,  and  at  the  morgue  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Greyne  shuddered.  This  was  an  ill 
omen  for  his  expedition.  He  drank  a  stiff 
whisky-and-soda  instead  of  the  usual  barley 
water,  and  went  to  bed  to  dream  of  bloody 
murders  in  which  he  was  the  victim. 

When  the  train  ran  into  Marseilles  next 
morning  he  was  an  unshaven,  miserable  man. 

"  Have  I  time  to  buy  a  tooth-brush,"  he  in- 
quired anxiously  at  the  station,  "  before  the 
boat  sails  for  Algiers?" 

The  chef  de  gare  thought  so.  Monsieur  had 
four  hours,  if  that  was  sufficient.  Mr.  Greyne 
hastened  forth,  had  a  Turkish  bath,  purchased 
a  new  dressing-case,  ate  a  hasty  dejeuner.,  and 
took  a  cab  to  the  wharf.  It  was  a  long  drive 
over  the  stony  streets.  He  glanced  from  side 
to  side,  watching  the  bustling  traffic,  the  hurry 
of  the  nations  going  to  and  from  the  ships. 
His  eyes  rested  upon  two  Arabs  who  were 
striding  along  in  his  direction.  Doubtless  they 
were  also  bound  for  Algiers.  He  thought  they 
looked  most  wicked,  and  hastily  took  a  note 
of  them  for  "  African  Frailty."  Beside  his 
sense  of  loss  and  loneliness  marched  the  sense 

171 


THE   MISSION   OF 

of  duty.  The  great  woman  at  home  in  Bel- 
grave  Square,  founder  of  his  fortunes,  mother 
of  his  children,  she  depended  upon  him.  Even 
in  his  own  hour  of  need  he  would  not  fail  her. 
He  took  a  lead  pencil,  and  wrote  down : 

Saw  two  Arab  ruffians.  Bare  legs.  Look 
capable  of  anything.  Should  not  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  they  had 

There  he  paused.  That  they  had  what? 
Done  things.  Of  course,  but  what  things? 
That  was  the  question.  He  exerted  his  imag- 
ination, but  failed  to  arrive  at  any  conclusion 
as  to  their  probable  crimes.  His  knowledge 
of  wickedness  was  really  absurdly  limited. 
For  the  first  time  he  felt  slightly  ashamed  of 
it,  and  began  to  wish  he  had  gone  into  the 
militia.  He  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  in  a  fortnight  he  would  probably 
be  fit  for  the  regular  army.  This  thought 
cheered  him  slightly,  and  it  was  with  a  slight 
smile  upon  his  face  that  he  welcomed  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  General  Bertrand,  which  was 
lying  against  the  quay  ready  to  cast  off  at  the 
stroke  of  noon.  Most  of  the  passengers  were 
aboard,  but,  as  Mr.  Greyne  stepped  out  of  his 
cab,  and  prepared  to  pay  the  Maltese  driver, 
a  trim  little  lady,  plainly  dressed  in  black,  and 
carrying  a  tiny  and  rather  coquettish  hand-bag, 
was  tripping  lightly  across  the  gangway.  Mr. 
Greyne  glanced  at  her  as  he  turned  to  follow, 
glanced,  and  then  started.  That  back  was 

173 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNS 

surely  familiar  to  him.  Where  could  he  have 
seen  it  before?  He  searched  his  memory  as  the 
little  lady  vanished.  It  was  a  smart,  even  a 
chic  back,  a  back  that  knew  how  to  take  care 
of  itself,  a  back  that  need  not  go  through  the 
world  alone,  a  back,  in  fine,  that  was  most  dis- 
tinctly attractive,  if  not  absolutely  alluring. 
Where  had  he  seen  it  before,  or  had  he  ever 
seen  it  at  all?  He  thought  of  his  wife's  back, 
flat,  powerful,  uncompromising.  This  was 
very  different,  more — how  should  he  put  it  to 
himself? — more  Algerian,  perhaps.  He  could 
vaguely  conceive  it  a  back  such  as  one  might 
meet  with  while  engaged  in  adding  to  one's 
stock  of  knowledge  of — well — African  frailty. 

At  this  moment  the  steward  appeared  to 
show  him  to  his  cabin,  and  his  further  reflec- 
tions were  mainly  connected  with  the  Gulf  of 
Lyons. 

Twilight  was  beginning  to  fall  when,  so  far 
as  he  was  capable  of  thinking,  he  thought  he 
would  like  a  breath  of  air.  For  some  moments 
he  lay  quite  still,  dwelling  on  this  idea  which 
had  so  mysteriously  come  to  him.  Then  he  got 
up,  and  thought  again,  seated  upon  the  cabin 
floor.  He  knew  there  was  a  deck.  He  remem- 
bered having  seen  one  when  he  came  aboard. 
He  put  on  his  fur  coat,  still  sitting  on  the  cabin 
floor.  The  process  took  some  time — he  fancied 
about  a  couple  of  years.  At  last,  however,  it 
was  completed,  and  he  rose  to  his  feet  with 
the  assistance  of  the  washstand  and  the  berth. 

173 


THE   MISSION   OF 

The  ship  seemed  very  busy,  full  of  almost 
American  activity.  He  thought  a  greater 
calm  would  have  been  more  decent,  and  waited 
in  the  hope  that  the  floor  would  presently  cease 
to  forget  itself.  As  it  showed  no  symptoms  of 
complying  with  his  desire  he  endeavoured  to 
spurn  it,  and,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  gained  the 
companion. 

It  was  very  strange,  as  he  remembered  af- 
terwards, that  only  when  he  had  gained  the 
companion  did  the  sense  of  his  utter  loneliness 
rush  upon  him  with  overwhelming  force:  one 
of  the  ironies  of  life,  he  supposed.  Eventually 
he  shook  the  companion  off  with  a  good  deal 
of  difficulty,  and  found  himself  installed  upon 
planks  under  a  grey  sky,  and  holding  fast  to 
a  railing,  which  was  all  that  interposed  be- 
tween him  and  eternity. 

At  first  he  was  only  conscious  of  greyness 
and  the  noise  of  winds  and  waters,  but  pres- 
ently a  black  daub  seemed  to  hover  for  a  sec- 
ond somewhere  on  the  verge  of  his  world,  to 
hover  and  disappear.  He  wondered  what  it 
was.  A  smut,  perhaps.  He  rubbed  his  face. 
The  daub  returned.  It  was  very  large  for  a 
smut.  He  strove  to  locate  it,  and  found  that 
it  must  be  somewhere  on  his  left  cheek.  With 
a  great  effort  he  took  out  his  pocket-handker- 
chief. Suddenly  the  daub  assumed  monstrous 
proportions.  He  turned  his  head,  and  per- 
ceived the  lady  in  black  whom  he  had  seen  trip- 
ping over  the  gangway  on  his  arrival. 

174 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

She  was  a  few  steps  from  him,  leaning  upon 
the  rail  in  an  attitude  of  the  deepest  dejection, 
with  her  face  averted;  yet  it  struck  him  that 
her  right  shoulder  was  oddly  familiar,  as  her 
hack  had  surely  been.  The  turn  of  her  head, 
too — he  coughed  despairingly.  The  lady 
took  no  notice.  He  coughed  again.  Interest 
was  quickening  in  him.  He  was  determined  to 
see  the  lady's  face. 

This  time  she  looked  around,  showing  a  pale 
countenance  bedewed  with  tears,  and  totally 
devoid  of  any  expression  which  he  could  con- 
nect with  a  consciousness  of  his  presence.  For 
a  moment  she  stared  vacantly  at  him,  while  he, 
with  almost  equal  vacancy,  regarded  her. 
Then  a  thrill  of  surprise  shook  him.  A  sud- 
den light  of  knowledge  leaped  up  in  him,  and 
he  exclaimed: 

"  Mademoiselle  Verbena! " 

"  Monsieur?  "  murmured  the  lady,  with  an 
accent  of  surprise. 

"Mademoiselle  Verbena!  Surely  it  is — it 
must  be! " 

He  had  staggered  sideways,  nearing  her. 

"  Mademoiselle  Verbena,  do  you  not  know 
me?  It  is  I,  Eustace  Greyne,  the  father  of 
your  pupils,  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Eustace 
Greyne? " 

An  expression  of  stark  amazement  came  in- 
to the  lady's  face  at  these  words.  She  leaned 
forward  till  her  eyes  were  close  to  Mr. 
Greyne's  then  gave  a  little  cry. 

175 


THE   MISSION   OF 

""  Mon  Dieu!  It  is  true !  You  are  so  altered 
that  I  could  not  recognise.  And  then — what 
are  you  doing  here,  on  the  wide  sea,  far  from 
madame? "  t 

"I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  the  very  same 
question!  "  cried  Mr.  Greyne. 


176 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 


IV 

"ALAS,  monsieur!"  said  Mademoiselle  Ver- 
bena in  her  silvery  voice,  "  I  go  to  see  my  poor 
mother." 

"  But  I  understood  that  she  was  dying  in 
Paris." 

"  Even  so.  But,  when  I  reached  the  Rue 
St.  Honore,  I  found  that  they  had  removed  to 
Algiers.  It  was  the  only  chance,  the  doctor 
said — a  warm  climate,  the  sun  of  Africa. 
There  was  no  time  to  let  me  know.  They  took 
her  away  at  once.  And  now  I  follow — per- 
haps to  find  her  dead." 

Large  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  Mr. 
Greyne  was  deeply  affected. 

"Let  us  hope  for  the  best,"  he  exclaimed, 
seized  by  a  happy  inspiration. 

The  Levantine  strove  to  smile. 

"But  you,  monsieur,  why  are  you  here? 
Ah!  perhaps  madame  is  with  you!  Let  me  go 

to  her !    Let  me  kiss  her  dear  hands  once  more 

j> 

Mr.  Greyne  mournfully  checked  her  fond 
excitement. 

"  I  am  quite  alone,"  he  said. 

A  tragic  expression  came  into  the  Levan- 
tine's face. 

"But,  then "  she  began. 

177 


THE   MISSION   OF 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  tell  her  about 
"Catherine."  He  was,  therefore,  constrained 
to  subterfuge. 

"  I — I  was  suddenly  overtaken  by — by  in- 
fluenza," he  said,  in  some  confusion.  "  The 
doctor  recommended  change  of  air,  of  scene. 
He  suggested  Algiers " 

ff  Mon  Dieu!    It  is  like  poor  mamma!" 

"  Precisely.  Our  constitutions  are — are 
doubtless  similar.  I  shall  take  this  opportu- 
nity also  of  improving  my  knowledge  of  Afri- 
can manners  and — and  customs." 

A  strange  smile  seemed  to  dawn  for  a  sec- 
ond on  Mademoiselle  Verbena's  face,  but  it 
died  instantaneously  in  a  grimace  of  pain. 

"  My  teeth  make  me  bad,"  she  said.  "  Ah, 
monsieur,  I  must  go  below,  to  pray  for  poor 
mamma — "  she  paused,  then  softly  added, 
"  and  for  monsieur." 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  to  depart,  but 
Mr.  Greyne  begged  her  to  remain.  In  his  lone- 
liness the  sight  even  of  a  Levantine  whom  he 
knew  solaced  his  yearning  heart.  He  felt  quite 
friendly  towards. this  poor,  unhappy  girl,  for 
whom,  perhaps,  such  a  shock  was  preparing 
upon  the  distant  shore. 

"  Better  stay!  "  he  said.  "  The  air  will  do 
you  good." 

"  Ah,  if  I  die,  what  matter?  Unless  mam- 
ma lives  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  who  cares 
for  me,  for  whom  I  care." 

"  There — there  is  Mrs.  Greyne,"  said  her 
178 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

husband.     "And  then  St.  Paul's — remember 
St.  Paul's." 

"  Ah  ce  charmant  St.  Paul's!  Shall  I  ever 
see  him  more? " 

She  looked  at  Mr.  Greyne,  and  suddenly — 
he  knew  not  why — Mr.  Greyne  remembered 
the  incident  of  the  diary,  and  blushed. 

"  Monsieur  has  fever!  " 

Mr.  Greyne  shook  his  head.  The  Levantine 
eyed  him  curiously. 

"  Monsieur  wishes  to  say  something  to  me, 
and  does  not  like  to  speak." 

Mr.  Greyne  made  an  effort.  Now  that  he 
was  with  this  gentle  lady,  with  her  white  face, 
her  weeping  eyes,  her  plain  black  dress,  the 
mere  suspicion  that  she  could  have  opened  a 
locked  drawer  with  a  secret  key,  and  filched 
therefrom  a  private  record,  seemed  to  him  un- 
pardonable. Yet,  for  a  brief  instant,  it  had 
occurred  to  him,  and  Mrs.  Greyne  had  serious- 
ly held  it.  He  looked  at  Mademoiselle  Ver- 
bena, and  a  sudden  impulse  to  tell  her  the  truth 
overcame  him. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Tell  me,  monsieur." 

In  broken  words — the  ship  was  still  very 
busy — Mr.  Greyne  related  the  incident  of  the 
loss  and  finding  of  the  diary.  As  he  spoke  a 
slight  change  stole  over  the  Levantine's  face. 
It  certainly  became  less  pale. 

"But  you  have  fever  now!"  cried  Mr. 
Greyne  anxiously. 

179 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"  I!  No;  I  flush  with  horror,  not  with  fev- 
er! The  diary,  the  sacred  diary  of  madame, 
exposed  to  view,  read  by  the  children,  per- 
haps the  servants!  That  footman,  Thomas, 
with  the  nose  of  curiosity!  Ah!  I  behold 
that  nose  penetrating  into  the  holy  secrets 
of  the  existence  of  madame!  I  behold  it — 
ah!" 

She  burst  into  a  fit  of  hysterics,  the  laugh- 
ing species,  which  is  so  much  more  terrible  than 
the  other  sort.  Mr.  Greyne  was  greatly  con- 
cerned. He  lurched  to  her,  and  implored  her 
to  be  calm;  but  she  only  laughed  the  more, 
while  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks.  The 
vision  of  Thomas  gloating  over  Mrs.Greyne's 
diary  seemed  utterly  to  unnerve  her,  and  Mr. 
Greyne  was  able  to  measure,  by  this  ebullition 
of  horror,  the  depth  of  the  respect  and  affec- 
tion entertained  by  her  for  his  beloved  wife. 
When,  at  length,  she  grew  calmer  he  escorted 
her  towards  her  cabin,  offering  her  his  arm, 
on  which  she  leaned  heavily.  As  soon  as  they 
were  in  the  narrow  and  heaving  passage  she 
turned  to  him,  and  said : 

"  Who  can  have  taken  the  diary?  " 

Mr.  Greyne  blushed  again. 

"  We  think  it  was  Thomas,"  he  said. 

Mademoiselle  Verbena  looked  at  him  stead- 
ily for  a  moment,  then  she  cried : 

"  God  bless  you,  monsieur!  " 

Mr.  Greyne  was  startled  by  the  abruptness 
of  this  pious  ejaculation. 

180 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"Why?  "he  inquired. 

"  You  are  a  good  man.  You,  at  least,  would 
not  condescend  to  insult  a  friendless  woman 
by  unworthy  suspicions.  And  madame?" 

"  Mrs.Greyne  "  —stammered  Mr.Greyne — 
"  is  convinced  that  it  was  Thomas.  In  fact — 
in  fact,  she  was  the  first  to  say  so." 

Mademoiselle  Verbena  tenderly  pressed  his 
hand. 

"  Madame  is  an  angel.  God  bless  you 
both!" 

She  tottered  into  her  cabin,  and,  as  she  shut 
the  door,  Mr.  Greyne  heard  the  terrible,  laugh- 
ing hysterics  beginning  again. 

The  next  day  an  influence  from  Africa 
seemed  spread  upon  the  sea.  Calm  were  the 
waters,  calm  and  blue.  No  cloud  appeared  in 
the  sky.  The  fierce  activities  of  the  ship  had 
ceased,  and  Mademoiselle  Verbena  tripped  up- 
on the  deck  at  an  early  hour,  to  find  Mr. 
Greyne  already  installed  there,  and  looking 
positively  cheerful.  He  started  up  as  he  per- 
ceived her,  and  chivalrously  escorted  her  to  a 
chair. 

Everyone  who  has  made  a  voyage  knows 
that  the  sea  breeds  intimacies.  By  the  time 
the  white  houses  of  Algiers  rose  on  their  hill 
out  of  the  bosom  of  the  waves  Mademoiselle 
Verbena  and  Mr.  Greyne  were — shall  we  say 
like  sister  and  brother?  She  had  told  him  all 
about  her  childhood  in  dear  Paris,  the  death 
of  her  father  the  count,  murmuring  the  name 

181 


THE   MISSION    OF 

of  Louis  XVI.,  the  poverty  of  her  mother  the 
countess,  her  own  resolve  to  put  aside  all  aris- 
tocratic prejudices  and  earn  her  own  living. 
He,  in  return,  had  related  his  Eton  days,  his 
momentary  bias  towards  the  militia,  his  mar- 
riage— as  an  innocent  youth — with  Miss  Eu- 
genia Hannibal-Barker.  Coming  to  later 
times,  he  was  led  to  confide  to  the  tender- 
hearted Levantine  the  fact  that  he  hoped  to 
increase  his  stock  of  knowledge  while  in  Afri- 
ca. Without  alluding  to  "Catherine,"  he 
hinted  that  the  cure  of  influenza  was  not  his 
only  reason  for  foreign  travel. 

"I  wish  to  learn  something  of  men  and — 
and  women,"  he  murmured  in  the  shell-like 
ear  presented  to  him.  "Of  their  passions,  their 
desires,  their — their  follies." 

"Ah!"      cried      Mademoiselle      Verbena. 

c  Would  that  I  could  assist  monsieur!    But  I 

am  only  an  ignorant  little  creature,  and  know 

nothing  of  the  world!    And  I  shall  be  ever  at 

the  bedside  of  mamma." 

6  You  will  give  me  your  address?    You  will 
let  me  inquire  for  the  countess? " 

"Willingly;  but  I  do  not  know  where  I  shall 
be.  There  will  be  a  message  at  the  wharf.  To 
what  hotel  goes  monsieur?  " 

"  The  Grand  Hotel." 

"  I  will  write  there  when  I  have  seen  mam- 
ma. And  meanwhile " 

They  were  coming  into  harbour.  The 
heights  of  Mustapha  were  visible,  the  woods 

182 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

of  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  the  towers  of  the 
Hotel  Splendid. 

"  Meanwhile,  may  I  beg  monsieur  not  to 
She  hesitated. 

"  Not  to  what? "  asked  Mr.  Greyne  most 
softly. 

"  Not  to  let  anyone  in  England  know  that 
I  am  here?  " 

She  paused.  Mr.  Greyne  was  silent,  won- 
dering. Mademoiselle  Verbena  drooped  her 
head. 

"  The  world  is  so  censorious.  It  might  seem 
strange  that  I  —  that  monsieur  —  a  man 
young,  handsome,  fascinating — the  same  ship 
—I  have  no  chaperon — enfin " 

She  could  get  out  no  more.  Her  deli- 
cacy, her  forethought  touched  Mr.  Greyne  to 
tears. 

"  Not  a  word,"  he  said.  "  You  are  right. 
The  world  is  evil,  and,  as  you  say,  I  am  a — not 
a  word! " 

He  ventured  to  press  her  hand,  as  an  elder 
brother  might  have  pressed  it.  For  the  first 
time  he  realised  that  even  to  the  husband  of 
Mrs.  Eustace  Greyne  the  world  might  attrib- 
ute—  Goodness  gracious!  What  might  not 
the  militia  think,  for  instance? 

He  felt  himself,  for  one  moment,  potential- 
ly a  dog. 

They  parted  in  a  whirl  of  Arabs  on  the 
quay.  Mr.  Greyne  would  have  stayed  to  assist 
Mademoiselle  Verbena,  but  she  bade  him  go. 

183 


THE   MISSION   OF 

She  whispered  that  she  thought  it  "  better  " 
that  they  should  not  seem  to — enfin! 

61 1  will  write  to-morrow,"  she  murmured. 
<e  Au  revoir!" 

On  the  last  word  she  was  gone.  Mr.  Greyne 
saw  nothing  but  Arabs  and  hotel  porters. 
Loneliness  seemed  to  close  in  on  him  once 
more. 

That  very  evening,  after  a  cup  of  tea,  he 
presented  himself  at  the  office  of  Rook  near 
the  Place  du  Gouvernement.  As  he  came  in 
he  felt  a  little  nervous.  There  were  no  tour- 
ists in  the  office,  and  a  courteous  clerk  with  a 
bright  and  searching  eye  at  once  took  him  in 
hand. 

"  What  can  we  do  for  you,  sir?  " 

"  I  am  a  stranger  here,"  began  Mr.  Greyne. 

"  Quite  so,  sir,  quite  so." 

The  clerk  twiddled  his  business-like  thumbs, 
and  looked  inquiring. 

"  And  being  so,"  Mr.  Greyne  went  on,  "  it 
is  naturally  my  wish  to  see  as  much  of  the 
town  as  possible;  as  much  as  possible,  you  un- 
derstand." 

"  You  want  a  guide?    Alphonso!  " 

Turning,  he  shouted  to  an  inner  room,  from 
which  in  a  moment  emerged  a  short,  stout, 
swarthy  personage  with  a  Jewish  nose,  a 
French  head,  an  Arab  eye  with  a  squint  in  it, 
and  a  markedly  Maltese  expression. 

"  This  is  an  excellent  guide,  sir,"  said  the 
clerk.  "  He  speaks  twenty-five  languages." 

184 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

The  stout  man,  who — as  Mr  Greyne  now 
perceived — had  on  a  Swiss  suit  of  clothes,  a 
panama  hat,  and  a  pair  of  German  elastic- 
sided  boots,  confessed  in  pigeon  English,  in- 
terspersed occasionally  with  a  word  or  two  of 
something  which  Mr.  Greyne  took  to  be  Chi- 
nese, that  such  was  undoubtedly  the  case. 

"What  do  you  wish  to  see?  The  mosque, 
the  bazaars,  St.  Eugene,  La  Trappe,  Mus- 
tapha,  the  baths  of  the  Etat-Major,  the  Jar- 
din  d'Essai,  the  Villa- Anti-Juif,  the " 

"  One  moment!  "  said  Mr.  Greyne. 

He  turned  to  the  clerk. 

"  May  I  take  a  chair?  " 

"  Be  seated,  sir,  pray  be  seated,  and  confer 
with  Alphonso." 

So  saying,  he  gave  himself  to  an  enormous 
ledger,  while  Mr.  Greyne  took  a  chair  opposite 
to  Alphonso,  who  stood  in  a  Moorish  attitude 
looking  apparently  in  the  direction  of  Mar- 
seilles. 

"  I  have  come  here,"  said  Mr.  Greyne,  low- 
ering his  voice,  "  with  a  purpose." 

"  You  wish  to  see  the  Belle  Fatma.  J  will 
arrange  it.  She  receives  every  evening  in  her 
house  in  the  Rue 

"  One  minute!  One  minute!  You  said  the 
something  '  Fatma'?" 

"The  Belle  Fatma,  the  most  beautiful 
woman  of  Africa.  She  receives  every 

"  Pardon  me!    One  moment!    Is  this  lady 

» 

185 


THE  MISSION   OF 

Mr.  Greyne  paused. 

"  Sir? "  said  Alphonso,  settling  his  Spanish 
neck-tie,  and  gazing  steadily  towards  Mar- 
seilles. 

"  Is  this  lady— well,  sinful?  " 

Alphonso  threw  up  his  hands  with  a  wild 
Asiatic  gesture. 

"  Sinful!  La  Belle  Fatma!  She  is  a  lady 
of  the  utmost  respectability  known  to  all  the 
town.  You  go  to  her  house  at  eight,  you  take 
coffee  upon  the  red  sofas,  you  talk  with  La 
Belle,  you  see  the  dances  and  hear  the  music. 
Do  not  fear,  sir;  it  is  good,  it  is  respectable 
as  England,  your  country : 

"  If  it  is  respectable  I  don't  want  to  see  it," 
interposed  Mr.  Greyne.  "  It  would  be  a  waste 
of  time." 

The  clerk  lifted  his  head  from  the  ledger, 
and  Alphonso,  by  means  of  standing  with  his 
back  almost  square  to  Mr.  Greyne,  and  look- 
ing over  his  right  shoulder,  succeeded  at  length 
in  fixing  his  eye  upon  him. 

"  I  have  not  travelled  here  to  see  respecta- 
ble things,"  continued  Mr.  Greyne,  with  'a 
slight  blush.  "  Quite  the  contrary." 

"  Sir?  " 

The  voice  of  Alphonso  seemed  to  have 
changed,  to  have  taken  on  a  hard,  almost  a 
menacing  tone.  Mr.  Greyne  thought  of  his 
beloved  wife,  of  Merrin's  exercise-books,  and 
clenched  his  hands,  endeavouring  to  feel,  and 
to  go  on,  like  a  militiaman. 

186 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  repeated  firmly; 

"my  object  in  coming  to  Africa  is  to  —  to 

search  about  in  the  Kasbah,  and  the  disrep 

He   choked,   recovered   himself,   and 

continued:   "Disreputable  quarters  of  Algiers 

—hem " 

1  What  for,  sir?  " 

The  voice  of  Alphonso  was  certainly 
changed. 

"What  for?"  said  Mr.  Greyne,  growing 
purple.  "  For  frailty." 

"Sir?" 

"For  frailty — for  wickedness." 

A  slight  cackle  emanated  from  the  ledger, 
but  immediately  died  away.  A  dead  silence 
reigned  in  the  office,  broken  only  by  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  the  sea,  and  by  the  hard  breath- 
ing of  Alphonso,  who  had  suddenly  begun  to 
pant. 

"  I  wish  to  go  to  all  the  wicked  places — 
all!" 

The  ledger  cackled  again  more  audibly. 
Mr.  Greyne  felt  a  prickling  sensation  run  over 
him,  but  the  thought  of  "  Catherine  "  nerved 
him  to  his  awful  task. 

"  It  is  my  wife's  express  desire  that  I  should 
do  so,"  he  added  desperately,  quite  forgetting 
Mrs.  Greyne's  injunction  to  keep  her  dark  in 
his  desire  to  stand  well  with  Rook's. 

The  ledger  went  off  into  a  hyena  imitation, 
and  Alphonso,  turning  still  more  away  from 
Mr.  Greyne,  so  as  to  get  the  eye  fuller  upon 

187 


THE    MISSION    OF 

him,  exclaimed,  in  a  mixture  of  Aryan  and 
Eurasian  languages : 

"  Sir,  I  am  a  respectable,  unmarried  man. 
I  was  born  in  Buenos  Ayres,  educated  in 
Smyrna,  came  of  age  in  Constantinople,  and 
have  practised  as  guide  in  Bagdad  and  other 
particular  cities.  I  refuse  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  you  and  your  wife." 

So  saying,  he  bounced  into  the  inner  room, 
and  banged  the  door,  while  the  ledger  gave 
itself  up  to  peals  of  merriment,  and  Mr. 
Greyne  tottered  forth  upon  the  sea-front, 
bathed  in  a  cold  perspiration,  and  feeling  more 
guilty  than  a  murderer. 

It  was  a  staggering  blow.  He  leaned  over 
the  stone  parapet  of  the  low  wall,  and  let  the 
soft  breezes  from  the  bay  flit  through  his  hair, 
and  thought  of  Mrs.  Greyne  spurned  by  Al- 
phonso.  What  was  he  to  do?  Kicked  out  of 
Rook's,  to  whom  could  he  apply?  There  must 
be  wickedness  in  Algiers,  but  where?  He  saw 
none,  though  night  was  falling  and  stout 
Frenchmen  were  already  intent  upon  their  ab- 
sinthe. 

"  Does  monsieur  wish  to  see  the  Kasbah 
to-night? " 

Was  it  a  voice  from  heaven?  He  turned, 
and  saw  standing  beside  him  a  tall,  thin,  au- 
dacious-looking young  man,  with  coal-black 
moustaches,  magnificent  eyes,  and  an  air  that 
was  half -languid,  half -serpentine. 

"  Who  are  you?" 

188 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"  I  am  a  guide,  monsieur.  Here  are  my  cer- 
tificates." 

He  produced  from  the  inner  pocket  of  his 
coat  a  large  bundle  of  dirty  papers. 

"If    monsieur    will    deign    to    look    them 


over." 


But  Mr.  Greyne  waved  them  away.  What 
did  he  care  for  certificates?  Here  was  a  guide 
to  African  frailty.  That  was  sufficient.  He 
was  in  a  desperate  mood,  and  uttered  desper- 
ate words. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said  rapidly,  "  are  you 
wicked?  " 

"  Very  wicked,  monsieur." 

"Good!" 

"  Wicked,  monsieur." 

"Right!" 

"  Wrong,  monsieur." 

"  I  mean  that  it  is  good  for  me  that  you  are 
wicked." 

"  Monsieur  is  very  good." 

"Yes;  but  I  wish  to  be — that  is,  to  see  the 
other  thing.  Can  you  undertake  to  show  me 
everything  shocking  in  Algiers?  " 

"  But  certainly,  monsieur.  For  a  considera- 
tion." 

"  Name  your  price." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds,  monsieur." 

Mr.  Greyne  started.  It  seemed  a  high 
figure. 

"Monsieur  thought  it  would  be  more?  I 
make  a  special  price,  because  I  have  taken  a 

189 


THE   MISSION   OF 

fancy  to  monsieur.  I  remove  fifty  pounds. 
Monsieur,  of  course,  will  pay  all  expenses." 

"  Of  course,  of  course." 

It  was  no  time  to  draw  back. 

"  How  long  will  it  take?  " 

"  To  see  all  the  shocking?  " 

"  Precisely." 

"  There  is  a  good  deal.  A  fortnight,  three 
weeks.  It  depends  on  monsieur.  If  he  is 
strong,  and  can  do  without  sleep— 

"  We  shall  have  to  be  up  at  night?  " 

"  Naturally." 

"  I  shall  go  to  bed  during  the  day,  and  get 
through  it  in  a  fortnight." 

:'  Perfectly." 

"  Be  at  the  Grand  Hotel  to-night  at  ten 
o'clock  precisely." 

"  At  ten  o'clock  I  will  be  there.  Monsieur 
will  pay  a  little  in  advance?  " 

"  Here  are  twenty  pounds,"  cried  Mr. 
Greyne  recklessly. 

The  audacious-looking  young  man  took  the 
notes  with  decision,  made  a  graceful  salute, 
and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  quay, 
while  Mr.  Greyne  walked  to  his  hotel,  flushed 
with  excitement,  and  feeling  like  the  most  des- 
perate criminal  in  Africa.  If  the  militia  could 
see  him  now! 

At  dinner  he  drank  a  bottle  of  champagne, 
and  afterwards  smoked  a  strong  cigar  over  his 
coffee  and  liqueur.  As  he  was  finishing  these 
frantic  enjoyments  the  head  waiter — a  per- 

190 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

sonage  bearing  a  strong  resemblance  to  an  en- 
larged edition  of  Napoleon  the  First — ap- 
proached him  rather  furtively,  and,  bending 
down,  whispered  in  his  ear : 

"  A  gentleman  has  called  to  take  monsieur 
to  the  Kasbah." 

Mr.  Greyne  started,  and  flushed  a  guilty 
red. 

"  I  will  come  in  a  moment,"  he  answered, 
trying  to  assume  a  nonchalant  voice,  such  as 
that  in  which  a  hardened  major  of  dragoons 
announces  that  in  his  time  he  was  a  devil  of  a 
fellow. 

The  head  waiter  retired,  looking  painfully 
intelligent,  and  Mr.  Greyne  sprang  upstairs, 
seized  a  Merrin's  exercise-book  and  a  lead 
pencil,  put  on  a  dark  overcoat,  popped  one  of 
the  Springfield  revolvers  into  the  pocket  of  it, 
and  hastened  down  into  the  hall  of  the  hotel, 
where  the  audacious-looking  young  man  was 
standing,  surrounded  by  saucy  chasseurs  in 
gay  liveries  and  peaked  caps,  by  Algerian 
waiters,  and  by  German- Swiss  porters,  all  of 
whom  were  smiling  and  looking  choke-full  of 
sympathetic  comprehension. 

"  Ha!  "  said  Mr.  Greyne,  still  in  the  major's 
voice.  "  There  you  are!  " 

"  Behold  me,  monsieur." 

"  That's  good." 

'  Wicked,  monsieur." 

'  Well,  let's  be  off  to  the  mosque." 

One  of  the  chasseurs — a  child  of  eight  who 
191 


THE   MISSION   OF 

was  thankful  that  he  knew  no  better — burst 
into  a  piping  laugh.  The  waiters  turned  has- 
tily away,  and  the  German- Swiss  porters  re- 
treated to  the  bureau  with  some  activity. 

:<  To  the  mosque — precisely,  monsieur,"  re- 
turned the  guide,  with  complete  self-posses- 
sion. 

They  stepped  out  at  once  upon  the  pave- 
ment, where  a  carriage  was  in  waiting. 

"  Where  are  we  going? "  inquired  Mr. 
Greyne  in  an  anxious  voice. 

'  We  are  going  to  the  heights  to  see  the 
Ouled,"  replied  the  guide.  ff  En  avant! " 

He  bounded  in  beside  Mr.  Greyne,  the 
coachman  cracked  his  .whip,  the  horses  trotted. 
They  were  off  upon  their  terrible  pilgrimage. 


192 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 


ON  the  following  afternoon,  at  a  quarter  to 
three,  when  Mr.  Greyne  came  down  to  break- 
fast, he  found,  lying  beside  the  boiled  eggs, 
a  note  directed  to  him  in  a  feminine  handwrit- 
ing. He  tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers, 
and  read  as  follows: — 

1   RUE  DU  PETIT  NEGRE. 

DEAR  MONSIEUR, — I  am  here.  Poor  mamma  is  in  the 
hospital.  I  am  allowed  to  see  her  twice  a  day.  At  all 
other  times  I  remain  alone,  praying  and  weeping.  I 
trust  that  monsieur  has  passed  a  good  night.  For  me,  I 
was  sleepless,  thinking  of  mamma.  I  go  now  to  church. 

ADELE  VERBENA. 

He  laid  this  missive  down,  and  sighed  deep- 
ly. How  strangely  innocent  it  was,  how  sim- 
ple, how  sincere!  There  were  white  souls  in 
Algiers — yes,  even  in  Algiers.  Strange  that 
he  should  know  one!  Strange  that  he,  who 
had  filled  a  Merrin's  exercise-book  with  tiny 
writing,  and  had  even  overflowed  on  to  the 
cover  after  "  crossing  "  many  pages,  should 
receive  the  child-like  confidences  of  one!  "I 
go  now  to  the  church."  Tears  came  into  his 
eyes  as  he  laid  the  letter  down  beside  a  pile 
of  buttered  toast  over  which  the  burning  after- 
noon sun  of  Africa  was  shining. 

193 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"  Monsieur  will  take  milk  and  sugar? " 

It  was  the  head  waiter's  Napoleonic  voice. 
Mr.  Greyne  controlled  himself.  The  man  was 
smiling  intelligently.  All  the  staff  of  the  hotel 
smiled  intelligently  at  Mr.  Greyne  to-day — 
the  waiters,  the  porters,  the  chasseurs.  The 
child  of  eight  who  was  thankful  that  he  knew 
no  better  had  greeted  him  with  a  merry  laugh 
as  he  came  down  to  breakfast,  and  an  "  Oh,  la, 
la!"  which  had  elicited  a  rebuke  from  the  pro- 
prietor. Indeed,  a  wave  of  human  sympathy 
flowed  upon  Mr.  Greyne,  whose  ashy  face  and 
dull,  washed-out  eyes  betrayed  the  severity  of 
his  night-watch. 

"  Monsieur  will  feel  better  after  a  little 
food." 

The  head  waiter  handed  the  buttered  toast 
with  bland  majesty,  at  the  same  time  shooting 
a  reproving  glance  at  the  little  chasseur,  who 
was  peeping  from  behind  the  door  at  the  after- 
noon breakf  aster. 

"  I  feel  perfectly  well,"  replied  Mr.  Greyne, 
with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness. 

"  Still,  monsieur  will  feel  much  better  after 
a  little  food." 

Mr.  Greyne  began  to  toy  with  an  egg. 

"  You  know  Algiers?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  was  born  here,  monsieur.  If  monsieur 
wishes  to  explore  to-night  again  the  Kasbah 
I  can " 

But  Mr.  Greyne  stopped  him  with  a  gesture 
that  was  almost  fierce. 

194 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

i 

"  Where  is  the  Rue  du  Petit  Negre?  " 

"  Monsieur  wishes  to  go  there  to-night?  " 

"  I  wish  to  go  there  now,  directly  I  have  fin- 
ished break — lunch." 

The  head  waiter's  face  was  wreathed  with 
humorous  surprise. 

"But  monsieur  is  wonderful  —  superb! 
Never  have  I  seen  a  traveller  like  monsieur! " 

He  gazed  at  Mr.  Greyne  with  tropical  ap- 
preciation. 

"  Monsieur  had  better  have  a  carriage.  The 
street  is  difficult  to  find." 

"  Order  me  one.    I  shall  start  at  once." 

Mr.  Greyne  pushed  away  the  sunlit  but- 
tered toast,  and  got  up. 

"  Monsieur  is  superb.  Never  have  I  seen  a 
traveller  like  monsieur! " 

Napoleon's  voice  was  almost  reverent.  He 
hastened  out,  followed  slowly  by  Mr.  Greyne. 

"A  carriage  for  monsieur!  Monsieur  de- 
sires to  go  to  the  Rue  du  Petit  Negre!  " 

The  staff  of  the  hotel  gathered  about  the 
door  as  if  to  speed  a  royal  personage,  and  Mr. 
Greyne  noticed  that  their  faces  too  were 
touched  with  an  almost  startled  reverence.  He 
stepped  into  the  carriage,  signed  feebly,  but 
with  determination,  to  the  Arab  coachman, 
and  was  driven  away,  followed  by  a  parting 
"Oh,  la,  la! "  from  the  chasseur,  uttered  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  shrill  with  sheer  amaze- 
ment. 

Through  winding,  crowded  streets  he  went, 
195 


THE   MISSION    OF 

by  bazaars  and  Moorish  bath-houses,  mosques 
and  Catholic  churches,  barracks  and  cafes,  till 
at  length  the  carriage  turned  into  an  alley  that 
crept  up  a  steep  hill.  It  moved  on  a  little  way, 
and  then  stopped. 

"  Monsieur  must  descend  here,"  said  the 
coachman.  "  Mount  the  steps,  go  to  the  right 
and  then  to  the  left.  Near  the  summit  of  the 
hill  he  will  find  the  Rue  du  Petit  Negre.  Shall 
I  wait  for  monsieur?  " 

"  Yes." 

The  coachman  began  to  make  a  cigarette, 
while  Mr.  Greyne  set  forth  to  follow  his  direc- 
tions, and,  at  length,  stood  before  an  arch, 
which  opened  into  a  courtyard  adorned  with 
orange-trees  in  tubs,  and  paved  with  blue  and 
white  tiles.  Around  this  courtyard  was  a 
three-storey  house  with  a  flat  roof,  and  from  a 
bureau  near  a  little  fountain  a  stout  French- 
woman called  to  demand  his  business.  He 
asked  for  Mademoiselle  Verbena,  and  was  at 
once  shown  into  a  saloon  lined  with  chairs  cov- 
ered with  yellow  rep,  and  begged  to  take  a 
seat.  In  two  minutes  Mademoiselle  Verbena 
appeared,  drying  her  eyes  with  a  tiny  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  forcing  a  little  pathet- 
ic smile  of  welcome.  Mr.  Greyne  clasped 
her  hand  in  silence.  She  sat  down  in  a  rep 
chair  at  his  right,  and  they  looked  at  each 
other. 

"Mais,  mon  Dieu!  How  monsieur  is 
changed!  "  cried  the  Levantine.  "  If  madame 

196 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

could  see  him!  What  has  happened  to  mon- 
sieur? " 

"Miss  Verbena,"  replied  Mr.  Greyne,  "I 
have  seen  the  Ouled  on  the  heights." 

A  spasm  crossed  the  Levantine's  face.  She 
put  her  handkerchief  to  it  for  a  moment. 

"  What  is  an  Ouled?  "  she  inquired,  with- 
drawing it. 

"  I  dare  not  tell  you,"  he  replied  sol- 
emnly. 

"  But  indeed  I  wish  to  know,  so  that  I  may 
sympathise  with  monsieur." 

Mr.  Greyne  hesitated,  but  his  heart  was 
full ;  he  felt  the  need  of  sympathy.  He  looked 
at  Mademoiselle  Verbena,  and  a  great  longing 
to  unburden  himself  overcame  him. 

"  An  Ouled,"  he  replied,  "  is  a  dancing-girl 
from  the  desert  of  Sahara." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  How  does  she  dance?  Is  it  a 
valse,  a  polka,  a  quadrille?  " 

"  No.    Would  that  it  werel  " 

And  Mr.  Greyne,  unable  further  to  govern 
his  desire  for  full  expression,  gave  Mademoi- 
selle Verbena  a  slightly  Bowdlerised  descrip- 
tion of  the  dances  of  the  desert.  She  heard  him 
with  amazement. 

"How  terrible!"  she  exclaimed  when  he 
had  finished.  "  And  does  one  pay  much  to  see 
such  steps  of  the  Evil  One?  " 

"  I  gave  her  twenty  pounds.  Abdallah 
jack » 

"Abdallah  Jack?" 

197 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"  My  guide  informed  me  that  was  the  price. 
He  tells  me  it  is  against  the  law,  and  that  each 
time  an  Ouled  dances  she  risks  being  thrown 
into  prison." 

"  Poor  lady!  How  sad  to  have  to  earn  one's 
bread  by  such  devices,  instead  of  by  teaching 
to  the  sweet  little  ones  of  monsieur  the  sym- 
pathetic grammar  of  one's  native  country." 

Mr.  Greyne  was  touched  to  the  quick  by 
this  allusion,  which  brought,  as  in  a  vision, 
the  happy  home  in  Belgrave  Square  before 
him. 

"  You  are  an  angel! "  he  exclaimed. 

Mademoiselle  Verbena  shook  her  head. 

"  And  this  poor  Ouled,  you  will  go  to  her 
again? " 

4  Yes.  It  seems  that  she  is  in  communica- 
tion with  all  the — the — well,  all  the  odd  people 
of  Algiers,  and  that  one  can  only  get  at  them 
through  her." 

"Indeed?" 

"Abdallah  Jack  tells  me  that  while  I  am 
here  I  should  pay  her  a  weekly  salary,  and 
that,  in  return,  I  shall  see  all  the  terrible  cere- 
monies of  the  Arabs.  I  have  decided  to  do 
?> 

"  Ah,  you  have  decided!  " 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Greyne  started.  There 
seemed  a  new  sound  in  Mademoiselle  Ver- 
bena's voice,  a  gleam  in  her  dark  brown  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  in  wonder. 
"  But  I  have  not  yet  told  Abdallah  Jack." 

198 


MR,    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

The  Levantine  looked  gently  sad  again. 

"  Ah,"  she  said  in  her  usual  pathetic  voice, 
"  how  my  heart  bleeds  for  this  poor  Ouled.  By 
the  way,  what  is  her  name?  " 

"  Aishoush." 

"  She  is  beautiful?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.  SEe  was  so  painted,  so 
tattooed,  so  very — so  very  different  from  Mrs. 
Eustace  Greyne." 

"How  sad!  How  terrible!  Ah,  but  you 
must  long  for  the  dear  bonnet  strings  of  ma- 
dame?  " 

Did  he?  As  she  spoke  Mr.  Greyne  asked 
himself  the  question.  Shocked  as  he  was,  fa- 
tigued by  his  researches,  did  he  wish  that  he 
were  back  again  in  Belgrave  Square,  drinking 
barley  water,  pasting  notices  of  his  wife's 
achievements  into  the  new  album,  listening 
while  she  read  aloud  from  the  manuscript 
of  her  latest  novel?  He  wondered,  and — 
how  strange,  how  almost  terrible — he  was  not 
sure. 

"  Is  it  not  so? "  murmured  Mademoiselle 
Verbena. 

"  Naturally  I  miss  my  beloved  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Greyne  with  a  certain  awkwardness. 
"  How  is  your  poor,  dear  mother?  " 

Tears  came  at  once  into  the  Levantine's 
eyes. 

'*  Very,  very  ill,  monsieur.  Still  there  is  a 
chance — just  a  chance  that  she  may  not  die. 
Ah,  when  I  sit  here  all  alone  in  this  strange 

199 


THE   MISSION    OF 

place,  I  feel  that  she  will  perish,  that  soon  I 
shall  be  quite  deserted  in  this  cruel,  cruel 
world!" 

The  tears  began  to  flow  down  her  cheeks 
with  determination.  Mr.  Greyne  was  terribly 
upset. 

"  You  must  cheer  up,"  he  exclaimed.  "  iYou 
must  hope  for  the  best." 

"  Sitting  here  alone,  how  can  I?  " 

She  sobbed. 

"  Sitting  here  alone — very  true!" 

A  sudden  thought,  a  number  of  sudden 
thoughts,  struck  him. 

"  You  must  not  sit  here  alone." 

"Monsieur!" 

'  You  must  come  out.     You  must  drive. 
You  must  see  the  town,  distract  yourself." 

"  But  how?  Can  a — a  girl  go  about  alone 
in  Algiers  ? " 

"Heaven  forbidj    No;  I  will  escort  you." 

"Monsieur!" 

A  smile  of  innocent,  girlish  joy  trans- 
formed her  face,  but  suddenly  she  was  grave 
again. 

"  Would  it  be  right,  convendble?  " 

Mr.  Greyne  was  reckless.  The  dog  poten- 
tial rose  up  in  him  again. 

"Why  not?  And,  besides,  who  knows  us 
here?  Not  a  soul." 

'  That  is  true." 

"  Put  on  your  bonnet.  Let  us  start  at 
once!" 

200 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"But  I  do  not  wear  the  bonnet.  I  am  not 
like  madame." 

"  To  be  sure.     Your  hat." 

And  as  she  flew  to  obey  him,  Mr.  Eustace 
Greyne  found  himself  impiously  thanking  the 
powers  that  be  for  this  strange  chance  of  go- 
ing on  the  spree  with  a  toque.  When  Made- 
moiselle Verbena  returned  he  was  looking  al- 
most rakish.  He  eyed  her  neat  black  hat  and 
close-fitting  black  jacket  with  a  glance  not 
wholly  unlike  that  of  a  militiaman.  In  her 
hand  she  held  a  vivid  scarlet  parasol. 

"  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "it  is  terrible,  this 
ombrelle,  when  mamma  lies  at  death's  door. 
But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  no  other,  and  can- 
not afford  to  buy  one.  The  sun  is  fierce.  I 
dare  not  expose  myself  to  it  without  a  shelter." 

She  seemed  really  distressed  as  she  opened 
the  parasol,  and  spread  the  vivid  silk  above  her 
pretty  black-clothed  figure;  but  Mr.  Greyne 
thought  the  effect  was  brilliant,  and  ventured 
to  say  so.  As  they  passed  the  bureau  by  the 
fountain  on  their  way  out  the  stout  French- 
woman cast  an  approving  glance  at  Made- 
moiselle Verbena. 

"  The  little  rat  will  not  see  much  more  of 
the  little  negro  now,"  she  murmured  to  her- 
self. "After  all,  the  English  have  their  uses." 


201 


THE   MISSION   OF, 


VI 

IN  Belgrave  Square  Mrs.  Eustace  Greyne 
was  beginning  to  get  slightly  uneasy.  Several 
things  combined  to  make  her  so.  In  the  first 
place,  Mademoiselle  Verbena  had  never  re- 
turned from  her  mother's  Parisian  bedside,  and 
had  not  even  written  a  line  to  say  how  the  dear 
parent  was,  and  when  the  daughter's  nursing 
occupation  was  likely  to  be  over.  In  the  sec- 
ond place,  Adolphus,  in  consequence  of  the 
Levantine's  absence,  had  totally  lost  his  grasp, 
always  uncertain,  upon  the  irregular  verbs.  In 
the  third  place,  Darrell,  the  valet,  had  returned 
to  London  the  day  after  his  departure  from  it, 
minus  not  only  his  master's  dressing-case,  but 
minus  everything  he  possessed.  His  story  was 
that,  while  waiting  at  the  station  in  Paris  for 
his  master's  appearance,  he  had  entered  into 
conversation  with  an  agreeable  stranger,  and 
been  beguiled  into  the  acceptance  of  an  ab- 
sinthe at  a  cafe  just  outside.  After  swallow- 
ing the  absinthe  he  remembered  nothing  more 
till  he  came  to  himself  in  a  deserted  waiting- 
room  at  the  Gare  du  Nord,  back  to  which  he 
had  been  mysteriously  conveyed.  In  his  pocket 
was  no  money,  no  watch,  only  the  return  half 
of  a  second-class  ticket  from  London  to  Paris. 
He,  therefore,  wandered  about  the  streets  till 

202 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

morning  broke,  and  then  came  back  to  Lon- 
don a  crestfallen  and  miserable  man,  bemoan- 
ing his  untoward  fate,  and  cursing  "them 
blasted  Frenchies"  from  the  bottom  of  his 
British  heart. 

Mrs.  Greyne's  anxiety  on  her  husband's  be- 
half, now  that  he  was  thrown  absolutely  unat- 
tended upon  the  inhospitable  shores  of  Africa, 
was  not  lessened  by  a  fourth  circumstance, 
which,  indeed,  worried  her  far  more  than  all 
the  others  put  together.  This  was  Mr. 
Greyne's  prolonged  absence  from  her  side. 
Precisely  one  calendar  month  had  now  elapsed 
since  he  had  buried  his  face  in  her  prune  bon- 
net strings  at  Victoria  Station,  and  there 
seemed  no  prospect  of  his  return.  He  wrote 
to  her,  indeed,  frequently,  and  his  letters  were 
full  of  wistful  regret  and  longing  to  be  once 
more  safe  in  the  old  homestead  in  Belgrave 
Square,  drinking  barley  water,  and  pasting 
Romeike  &  Curtice  notices  into  the  new  album 
which  lay,  gaping  for  him,  upon  the  table  of 
his  sanctum.  But  he  did  not  come ;  nay,  more, 
he  wrote  plainly  that  there  was  no  prospect  of 
his  coming  for  the  present.  It  seemed  that  the 
wickedness  of  Africa  was  very  difficult  to 
come  at.  It  did  not  lie  upon  the  surface,  but 
was  hidden  far  down  in  depths  to  which  the 
ordinary  tourist  found  it  almost  impossible  to 
penetrate.  In  his  numerous  letters  Mr. 
Greyne  described  his  heroic  and  unremitting 
exertions  to  fill  the  Merrin's  note-books  with 

203 


THE   MISSION   OF 

matter  that  would  be  suitable  for  the  purging 
of  humanity.  He  set  out  in  full  his  interview 
with  Alphonso  at  the  office  of  Rook,  and  his 
definite  rejection  by  that  cosmopolitan  official. 
According  to  the  letters,  after  this  event  he 
had  spent  no  less  than  a  fortnight  searching 
in  vain  for  any  sign  of  wickedness  in  the  Al- 
gerian capital.  He  had  frequented  the  cafes, 
the  public  bars,  the  theatres,  the  churches.  He 
had  been  to  the  Velodrome.  He  had  sat  by  the 
hour  in  the  Jardin  d'Essai.  At  night  he  had 
strolled  in  the  fairs  and  hung  about  the  circus. 
Yet  nowhere  had  he  been  able  to  perceive  any- 
thing but  the  most  innocent  pleasure,  the 
simple  merriment  of  a  gay  and  guileless  pop- 
ulation to  whom  the  idea  of  crime  seemed 
as  foreign  as  the  idea  of  singing  the  English 
national  anthem. 

During  the  third  week  it  was  true  that  mat- 
ters— always  according  to  Mr.  Greyne's  let- 
ters home — slightly  improved.  While  walking 
near  the  quay,  in  active  search  for  nautical 
outrage,  he  saw  an  Arab  dock  labourer,  who 
had  been  over-smoking  kief,  run  amuck,  and 
knock  down  a  couple  of  respectable  snake- 
charmers  who  were  on  the  point  of  embarka- 
tion for  Tunis  with  their  reptiles.  This  inci- 
dent had  filed  up  a  half -score  of  pages  in  ex- 
ercise-book number  one,  and  had  flooded  Mr. 
Greyne  with  hope  and  aspiration.  But  it  was 
followed  by  a  stagnant  lull  which  had  lasted 
for  days,  and  had  only  been  disturbed  by  the 

204: 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

trifling  incident  of  a  gentleman  in  the  Jewish 
quarter  of  the  town  setting  fire  to  a  neigh- 
bour's bazaar,  in  the  very  natural  endeavour  to 
find  a  French  half -penny  which  he  had  chanced 
to  drop  among  a  bale  of  carpets  while  looking 
in  to  drive  a  soft  bargain.  As  Mrs.  Greyne 
wired  to  Algiers,  such  incidents  were  of  no 
value  to  "  Catherine." 

A  very  active  interchange  of  views  had  gone 
on  between  the  husband  and  wife  as  time  went 
by,  and  the  book  was  at  a  standstill.  At  first 
Mrs.  Greyne  contented  herself  with  daily  let- 
ters, but  latterly  she  had  resorted  to  wires,  ex- 
planatory, condemnatory,  hortatory,  and  even 
comminatory.  She  began  bitterly  to  regret 
her  husband's  well-proven  innocence,  and 
wished  she  had  despatched  an  uncle  of  hers  by 
marriage,  an  ex-captain  in  the  Royal  Navy, 
who,  she  began  to  feel  certain,  would  have 
been  able  to  find  far  more  frailty  in  Algiers 
than  poor  Eustace,  in  his  simplicity,  would 
ever  come  at.  She  even  began  to  wish  that 
she  had  crossed  the  sea  in  person,  and  herself 
boldly  set  about  the  ingathering  of  the  mate- 
rial for  which  she  was  so  impatiently  waiting. 

Her  uneasiness  was  brought  to  a  head  by  a 
letter  from  a  house  agent,  stating  that  the 
corner  mansion  in  Park  Lane  next  to  the 
Duke  of  Ebury's  was  being  nibbled  at  by  a 
Venezuelan  millionaire.  She  wired  this  terri- 
ble fact  at  once  to  Africa,  adding,  at  an  enor- 
mous expenditure  of  cash: 

205 


THE   MISSION   OF 

This  will  never  do.  You  are  too  innocent,  and  cannot 
see  what  lies  before  you.  Obtain  assistance.  Go  to 
the  British  consul. 

Mr.  Greyne  at  once  cabled  back: 

Am  following  your  advice.  Will  wire  result.  Regret 
my  innocence,  but  am  distressed  that  you  should  so 
utterly  condemn  it. 

Upon  receiving  this  telegram  at  night,  be- 
fore a  lonely  dinner,  Mrs.  Eustace  Greyne 
was  deeply  moved.  She  felt  she  had  been 
hasty.  She  knew  that  to  very  few  women  was 
it  given  to  have  a  husband  so  free  from  all 
masculine  infirmities  as  Mr.  Greyne.  At  the 
same  time  there  was  "  Catherine,"  there  was 
the  mansion  in  Park  Lane,  there  was  the' 
Venezuelan  millionaire.  She  began  to  feel 
distracted,  and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  re- 
fused to  partake  of  sweetbreads  fried  in  mush- 
room ketchup,  a  dish  which  she  had  greatly  af- 
fected from  the  time  when  she  wrote  her  first 
short  story.  While  she  was  in  the  very  act  of 
waving  away  this  delicacy  a  footman  came  in 
with  a  foreign  telegram.  She  opened  it  quick- 
ly, and  read  as  follows : — 

British  consul  horrified;  was  ignominiously  expelled 
from  consulate ;  great  scandal ;  am  much  upset,  but  will 
never  give  in,  for  your  sake.  EUSTACE. 

As  the  dread  meaning  of  these  words  pene- 
trated at  length  to  Mrs.  Greyne's  voluminous 

206 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

brain  a  deep  flush  overspread  her  noble  fea- 
tures. She  rose  from  the  table  with  a  deter- 
mination that  struck  awe  to  the  hearts  of  the 
powdered  underlings,  and,  drawing  herself  up 
to  her  full  height,  exclaimed: 

"  Send  Mrs.  Forbes  at  once  to  my  study,  if 
you  please — at  once,  do  you  understand?  " 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Forbes,  who  was  the 
great  novelist's  maid,  appeared  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  oracle's  lair.  She  was  a  sober-look- 
ing, black-silk  personage,  who  always  wore  a 
pork-pie  cap  in  the  house,  and  a  Mother  Hub- 
bard  bonnet  out  of  it.  Having  been  in  service 
with  Mrs.  Greyne  ever  since  the  latter  penned 
her  last  minor  poetry — Mrs.  Greyne  had  been 
a  minor  poet  for  three  years  soon  after  she  put 
her  hair  up — Mrs.  Forbes  had  acquired  a  cer- 
tain literary  expression  of  countenance  and  a 
manner  that  was  decidedly  prosy.  She  read  a 
good  deal  after  her  supper  of  an  evening,  and 
was  wont  to  be  the  arbiter  when  any  literary 
matter  was  discussed  in  the  servants'  hall. 

"  Madam?  "  she  said,  respectfully  entering 
the  room,  and  bending  the  pork-pie  cap  for- 
ward in  an  attentive  attitude. 

Mrs.  Greyne  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She 
appeared  to  be  thinking  deeply.  Mrs.  Forbes 
gently  closed  the  door,  and  sighed.  It  was 
nearly  her  supper-time,  and  she  felt  pensive. 

"  Madam?  "  she  said  again. 

Mrs.  Greyne  looked  up.  A  strange  fire 
burned  in  her  large  eyes. 

207 


THE    MISSION    OF 

"  Mrs.  Forbes,"  she  said  at  length,  with 
weighty  deliberation,  "  the  mission  of  woman 
in  the  world  is  a  great  one." 

"  Very  true,  madam.  My  own  words  to 
Butler  Phillips  no  longer  ago  than  dinner  this 
midday." 

"  It  is  the  protecting  of  man — neither  more 
nor  less." 

"  My  own  statement,  madam,  to  Second 
Footman  Archibald  this  self -same  day  at  the 
tea-board." 

"  Man  needs  guidance,  and  looks  for  it  to 
us — or  rather  to  me." 

At  the  last  word  Mrs.  Forbes  pinched  her 
lips  together,  and  appeared  older  than  her 
years  and  sourer  than  her  normal  temper. 

"  At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  continued 
Mrs.  Greyne,  with  rising  fervour,  "  he  looks 
for  it  to  me  from  Africa.  From  that  dark  con- 
tinent he  stretches  forth  his  hands  to  me  in 
humble  supplication." 

"  Mr.  Greyne  has  not  been  taken  with  an- 
other of  his  bilious  attacks,  I  hope,  madam? " 
said  Mrs.  Forbes. 

Mrs.  Greyne  smiled.  The  ignorance  of  the 
humbly  born  entertained  her.  It  was  so  sim- 
ple, so  transparent. 

"  You  fail  to  understand  me,"  she  an- 
swered. "  But  never  mind;  others  have  done 
the  same." 

She  thought  of  her  reviewers.  Mrs.  Forbes 
smiled.  She  also  could  be  entertained. 

208 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"  Madam? "  she  inquired  once  more  after  a 
pause. 

"  I  shall  leave  for  Africa  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Greyne.  "  You  will  accom- 
pany me." 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

6  You  will  accompany  me.  Do  you  under- 
stand? Obtain  assistance  from  the  housemaids 
in  the  packing.  Select  my  quietest  gowns,  my 
least  conspicuous  bonnets.  I  have  my  reasons 
for  wishing,  while  journeying  to  Africa  and 
remaining  there,  to  pass,  if  possible,  un- 
noticed." 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  Mrs.  Greyne 
looked  up  at  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  observed  a  dog- 
ged expression  upon  her  countenance. 

'  What  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked  the  maid. 

"  Do  we  go  by  Paris,  madam? "  said  Mrs. 
Forbes. 

"  Certainly." 
'  Then,    madam,    I'm   very    sorry,    but    I 

couldn't  risk  it,  not  if  it  was  ever  so " 

'  Why  not?    Why  this  fear  of  Lutetia?  " 

"  Madam,  I'm  not  afraid  of  any  Lutetia  as 
ever  wore  apron,  but  to  go  to  Paris  to  be  drug- 
ged with  absint,  and  put  away  in  a  third-class 
waiting-room  like  a  package — I  couldn't  ma- 
dam, not  even  if  I  have  to  leave  your  service.' 

Mrs.  Greyne  recognised  that  the  episode 
of  the  valet  had  struck  home  to  the  lady's 
maid. 

"  But  you  will  not  leave  my  side." 
209 


THE   MISSION   OF 

"  They  will  absint  you,  madam." 

"  But  you  will  travel  first  in  a  sleeping-car." 

Mrs.  Forbes  put  up  her  hand  to  her  pork- 
pie  cap,  as  if  considering. 

"  Very  well,  madam,  to  oblige  you  I  will 
undergo  it,"  she  said  at  length.  "  But  I  would 
not  do  the  like  for  another  living  lady." 

"  I  will  raise  your  wages.  You  are  a  faith- 
ful creature." 

"  Does  master  expect  us,  madam?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Forbes  as  she  prepared  to  retire. 

A  bright  and  tender  look  stole  into  Mrs. 
Greyne's  intellectual  face. 

"  No,"  she  replied. 

She  turned  her  large  and  beaming  eyes  full 
upon  the  maid. 

"  Mrs.  Forbes,"  she  said,  with  an  amount  of 
emotion  that  was  very  rare  in  her,  "  I  am  go- 
ing to  tell  you  a  great  truth." 

"  Madam? "  said  Mrs.  Forbes  respectfully. 

:<  The  sweetest  moments  of  life,  those  which 
lift  man  nearest  heaven,  and  make  him  thank- 
ful for  the  great  gift  of  existence,  are  some- 
times those  which  are  unforeseen." 

She  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Greyne's  ecstasy 
when,  upon  the  inhospitable  African  shore 
where  he  was  now  enduring  such  tragic  mis- 
fortunes, he  perceived  the  majestic  form  of  his 
loved  one — his  loved  one  whom  he  believed  to 
be  in  Belgrave  Square — coming  towards  him 
to  soothe,  to  comfort,  to  direct.  She  brushed 
away  a  tear. 

210 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"  Go,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  she  said. 

And  Mrs.  Forbes  retired,  smiling. 

An  epic  might  well  be  written  on  the  great 
novelist's  journey  to  Africa,  upon  her  depart- 
ure from  Charing  Cross,  shrouded  in  a  black 
gauze  veil,  her  silent  thought  as  the  good  ship 
Empress  rode  cork-like  upon  the  Channel 
waves,  her  ascetic  lunch — a  captain's  biscuit 
and  a  glass  of  water — at  the  buffet  at  Calais, 
her  arrival  in  Paris  when  the  shades  of  night 
had  fallen.  An  epic  might  well  be  written. 
Perhaps  some  day  it  will  be,  by  herself. 

In  Paris  she  suffered  a  good  deal  on  ac- 
count of  Mrs.  Forbes,  who,  in  her  fear  of  "  ab- 
sint,"  became  hysterical,  and  caused  not  a  little 
annoyance  by  accusing  various  inoffensive 
French  travellers  of  nefarious  designs  upon 
her  property  and  person.  _  In  the  Gulf  of 
Lyons  she  suffered  even  more,  and  as,  unluck- 
ily, the  wind  was  contrary  and  the  sea  prodig- 
ious during  the  whole  of  the  passage  across 
the  Mediterranean,  both  she  and  Mrs.  Forbes 
arrived  at  Algiers  four  hours  late,  in  a  condi- 
tion which  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than 
properly  described. 

Genius  in  thrall  to  the  body,  and  absolutely 
dependent  upon  green  chartreuse  for  its  flick- 
ering existence,  is  no  subject  for  even  a  sym- 
pathetic pen.  Sufficient  to  say  that,  when  the 
ship  came  in  under  the  lights  of  Algiers,  the 
crowd  of  shouting  Arabs  was  struck  to  silence 
by  the  spectacle  of  Mrs.  Greyne  and  Mrs. 


THE   MISSION   OF 

Forbes  endeavouring  to  disembark,  in  bonnets 
that  were  placed  seaward  upon  the  head  in- 
stead of  landward,  unbuttoned  boots,  and 
gowns  soaked  with  the  attentions  of  the 
waves. 

After  being  gently  and  permanently  re- 
lieved of  their  light  hand-baggage,  the  mis- 
tress and  maid,  who  seemed  greatly  over- 
whelmed by  the  sight  of  Africa,  and  who 
moved — or  rather  were  carried — as  in  a  dream, 
were  placed  reverently  in  the  nearest  omnibus, 
and  conveyed  to  the  farthest  hotel,  which  was 
situated  upon  a  lofty  hill  above  the  town. 
Here  a  slightly  painful  scene  took  place. 

Having  been  assisted  by  the  staff  into  a 
Moorish  hall,  Mrs.  Greyne  inquired  in  a  ret- 
icent voice  for  her  husband,  and  was  politely 
informed  that  there  was  no  person  of  the  name 
of  Greyne  in  the  hotel.  For  a  moment  she 
seemed  threatened  with  dissolution,  but  with 
a  supreme  effort  calling  upon  her  mighty 
brain  she  surmised  that  her  husband  was  possi- 
bly passing  under  a  pseudonym  in  order  to 
throw  America  off  the  scent.  She,  therefore, 
demanded  to  have  the  guests  then  present  in 
the  hotel  at  once  paraded  before  her.  As  there 
was  some  difficulty  about  this — the  guests  be- 
ing then  at  dinner — she  whispered  for  the  vis- 
itors' book,  thinking  that,  perchance,  Mr. 
Greyne  had  inscribed  his  name  there,  and  that 
the  staff,  being  foreign,  did  not  recognise  it 
as  murmured  by  herself.  The  book  was 

212 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

brought,  upon  its  cover  in  golden  letters  the 
words:  "Hotel  Loubet  et  Majestic."  Then 
explanations  of  a  somewhat  disagreeable  na- 
ture occurred,  and  Mrs.  Greyne  and  Mrs. 
Forbes,  after  a  heavy  payment  had  been  ex- 
acted for  their  conveyance  to  a  place  they  had 
desired  not  to  go  to,  were  carried  forth,  and 
consigned  to  another  vehicle,  which  at  length 
brought  them,  on  the  stroke  of  nine,  to  the 
Grand  Hotel. 

Having  been  placed  reverently  in  the  bril- 
liantly-lighted hall,  they  were  surrounded  by 
the  proprietor,  the  maitre  d'hotel  and  his  as- 
sistants, the  porters,  and  the  chasseurs,  with 
all  of  whom  Mr.  Greyne  was  now  familiar. 
Brandy  and  water  having  been  supplied,  to- 
gether with  smelling-salts  and  burnt  feathers, 
Mrs.  Greyne  roused  herself  from  an  acute  at- 
tack of  lethargy,  and  asked  for  Mr.  Greyne. 
A  joyous  smile  ran  round  the  circle. 

"  Monsieur  Greyne,"  said  the  proprietor, 
"  who  is  living  here  for  the  winter? " 

"  Mr.  Eustace  Greyne,"  murmured  the 
great  novelist,  grasping  her  bonnet  with  both 
hands. 

The  maitre  d'hotel  drew  nearer. 

"  Madame  wishes  to  see  Monsieur  Greyne?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  do— at  once." 

A  blessed  consciousness  of  Mother  Earth 
was  gradually  beginning  to  steal  over  her.  She 
even  strove  feebly  to  sit  up  on  her  chair,  a 

213 


THE   MISSION    OF 

German- Swiss  porter  of  enormous  size  assist- 
ing her. 

"  But  Monsieur  Greyne  is  out." 

"Out?" 

"  Yes,  madame.  Monsieur  Greyne  is  al- 
ways out  at  night." 

The  eyes  of  the  little  chasseur  who  knew  no 
better  began  to  twinkle.  Mrs.  Forbes  gave  a 
slight  cough.  Tears  filled  the  novelist's  eyes. 

"God  bless  my  Eustace!"  she  murmured, 
deeply  touched  by  this  evidence  of  his  devo- 
tion to  her  interests. 

"  Madame  says "  asked  the  proprietor. 

"Where  does  Mr.  Greyne  go?"  inquired 
the  novelist. 

'  To  the  Kasbah,  madame." 

"  I  knew  it! "  cried  Mrs.  Greyne,  with  re- 
turning animation.  "  I  knew  it  would  be  so!  " 

"  Madame  is  acquainted  with  Monsieur 
Greyne?"  said  the  maitre  d'hotel,  while  the 
little  crowd  gathered  more  closely  about  the 
wave- worn  group. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Eustace  Greyne,"  returned  the 
great  novelist  recklessly.  "  I  am  the  wife  of 
Mr.  Eustace  Greyne." 

There  was  a  moment  of  supreme  silence. 
Then  a  loud,  an  even  piercing  "Oh,  la,  la! " 
broke  upon  the  air,  succeeded  instantaneously 
by  a  burst  of  laughter  that  seemed  to  thrill 
with  all  the  wild  blessedness  of  boyhood.  It 
came,  of  course,  from  the  little  chasseur;  it 
came,  and  stayed.  Nothing  could  stop  it,  and 

214 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

eventually  the  happy  child  had  to  be  carried 
forth  upon  the  sea-front  to  enjoy  his  innocent 
mirth  at  leisure  and  in  solitude  beneath  the 
African  stars.  Mrs.  Greyne  did  not  notice  his 
disappearance.  She  was  intent  upon  impor- 
tant matters. 

"  At  what  time  does  Mr.  Greyne  usually  set 
forth? "  she  asked  of  the  proprietor,  whose 
face  now  bore  a  strangely  twisted  appearance, 
as  if  afflicted  by  a  toothache. 

"  Immediately  after  dinner,  madame,  if  not 
before.  Of  late  it  has  generally  been  before." 

"  And  he  stays  out  late?  " 

"  Very  late,  madame." 

The  twisted  appearance  began  to  seem  in- 
fectious. It  was  visible  upon  the  faces  of  most 
of  those  surrounding  Mrs.  Greyne  and  Mrs. 
Forbes.  Indeed,  even  the  latter  showed  some 
signs  of  it,  although  the  large  shadow  cast 
over  her  features  by  the  hind  side  of  her 
Mother  Hubbard  bonnet  to  some  extent  dis- 
guised them  from  the  public  view. 

"  Till  what  hour?  "  pursued  Mrs.  Greyne  in 
a  voice  of  almost  yearning  tenderness  and 
pity. 

'  Well,  madame  " — the  proprietor  dis- 
played some  slight  confusion — "  I  really  can 
hardly  say.  The  maitre  d'hotel  can  perhaps 
inform  you." 

Mrs.  Greyne  turned  her  ox-like  eyes  upon 
the  enlarged  edition  of  Napoleon  the  First. 

"  Monsieur  Greyne  seldom  returns  before 
215 


THE    MISSION    OF 

seven  or  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  madame. 
He  then  retires  to  bed,  and  comes  down  to 
breakfast  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the  after- 


noon." 


Mrs.  Greyne  was  touched  to  the  very  quick. 
Her  husband  was  sacrificing  his  rest,  his  health 
— nay,  perhaps  even  his  very  life — in  her  ser- 
vice. It  was  well  she  had  come,  well  that  a 
period  was  to  be  put  to  these  terrible  re- 
searches. They  should  be  stopped  at  once,  even 
this  very  night.  Better  a  thousand  literary 
failures  than  that  her  husband's  existence 
should  be  placed  in  jeopardy.  She  rose  sud- 
denly from  her  chair,  tottered,  gasped,  recov- 
ered herself,  and  spoke. 

"  Prepare  dinner  for  me  at  once,"  she  said, 
"  and  order  a  carriage  and  a  competent  guide 
to  be  before  the  door  in  half-an-hour." 

"  Madame  is  going  out?  But  madame  is  ill, 
tired!" 

"  It  matters  not." 

"  Where  does  madame  wish  to  go?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  the  Kasbah  to  find  my  hus- 
band." 

"  I  will  escort  madame." 

The  proprietor,  the  maitre  d'hdtelj  the  wait- 
ers, the  porters,  the  chasseurs,  Mrs.  Greyne 
and  Mrs.  Forbes,  all  turned  about  to  face  the 
determined  speaker. 

And  there  before  them,  his  dark  eyes  gleam- 
ing, his  long  moustaches  bristling  fiercely — 
there  stood  Abdallah  Jack. 

216 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 


VII 

MAN  is  a  self -deceiver.  It  must,  therefore, 
ever  be  a  doubtful  point  whether  Mr.  Eustace 
Greyne,  during  his  residence  in  Africa,  abso- 
lutely lost  sight  of  his  sense  of  duty;  whether, 
beguiled  by  the  lively  attentions  of  a  fiercely 
foreign  town,  he  deliberately  resolved  to  take 
his  pleasure  regardless  of  consequences  and  of 
the  sacred  ties  of  Belgrave  Square.  We  pre- 
fer to  think  that  some  vague  idea  of  combin- 
ing two  duties — that  which  he  owed  to  himself 
and  that  which  he  owed  to  Mrs.  Greyne— 
moved  him  in  all  he  did,  and  that  the  subter- 
fuge into  which  he  was  undoubtedly  led  was 
not  wholly  selfish,  not  wholly  criminal.  Nev- 
ertheless, that  he  had  lied  to  his  beloved  wife 
is  certain.  Even  while  she  sat  over  a  cutlet 
and  a  glass  of  claret  in  the  white-and-gold 
dining-room  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  preparatory 
to  her  departure  to  the  Kasbah  with  Abdallah 
Jack,  the  dozen  of  Merrin's  exercise-books  lay 
upstairs  in  Mr.  Greyne's  apartments  filled  to 
the  brim  with  African  frailty.  Already  there 
was  material  enough  in  their  pages  to  furnish 
forth  a  library  of  "  Catherines."  Yet  Mr. 
Greyne  still  lingered  far  from  his  home,  and 
wired  to  that  home  fabricated  accounts  of  the 
singular  innocence  of  Algiers.  He  even  al- 

217 


THE   MISSION   OF 

lowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  his  own  innocence 
stood  in  the  way  of  his  fulfilment  of  Mrs. 
Greyne's  behests — he  who  could  now  have  giv- 
en points  in  knowledge  of  the  world  to  whole 
regiments  of  militiamen! 

It  was  not  right,  and,  doubtless,  he  must 
stand  condemned  by  every  moralist.  But  let 
it  not  be  forgotten  that  he  had  fallen  under 
the  influence  of  a  Levantine. 

Mademoiselle  Verbena's  mother,  hidden  in 
some  unnamed  hospital  of  Algiers,  appeared 
to  be  one  of  those  ingenious  elderly  ladies  who 
can  hover  indefinitely  upon  the  brink  of  death 
without  actually  dying.  During  the  whole 
time  that  Mr.  Greyne  had  been  in  Africa  her 
state  had  been  desperate,  yet  she  still  clung  to 
life.  As  her  daughter  said,  she  possessed  ex- 
traordinary vitality,  and  this  vitality  seemed 
to  have  been  inherited  by  her  child.  Despite 
her  grave  anxieties  Mademoiselle  Verbena 
succeeded  in  sustaining  a  remarkable  cheeri- 
ness,  and  even  a  fascinating  vivacity,  when  in 
the  company  of  others.  As  she  said  to  Mr. 
Greyne,  she  did  not  think  it  right  to  lay  her 
burdens  upon  the  shoulders  of  her  neighbours. 
She,  therefore,  forced  herself  to  appear  con- 
tented, even  at  various  moments  gay,  when  she 
and  Mr.  Greyne  were  lunching,  dining,  or 
supping  together,  were  driving  upon  the  front, 
sailing  upon  the  azure  waters  of  the  bay,  rid- 
ing upon  the  heights  beyond  El-Biar,  or,  en- 
sconced in  a  sumptuous  private  box,  listening 

218 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

to  the  latest  French  farce  at  one  or  another  of 
the  theatres.  Only  one  day,  when  they  had 
driven  out  to  the  monastery  at  La  Trappe  de 
Staoueli,  did  a  momentary  cloud  descend  upon 
her  piquant  features,  and  she  explained  this 
by  the  frank  confession  that  she  had  always 
wished  to  become  a  nun,  but  had  been  hindered 
from  following  her  vocation  by  the  necessity 
of  earning  money  to  support  her  aged  parents. 
Mr.  Greyne  had  never  seen  the  Ouled  since 
his  first  evening  in  Algiers,  but  he  still  paid  her 
a  weekly  salary,  through  Abdallah  Jack,  who 
explained  to  him  that  the  interesting  lady,  in 
a  discreet  retirement,  was  perpetually  occu- 
pied in  arranging  the  exhibitions  of  African 
frailty  at  which  he  so  frequently  assisted.  She 
was,  in  fact,  earning  her  liberal  salary.  Made- 
moiselle Verbena  and  Abdallah  Jack  had  met 
on  several  occasions,  and  Mr.  Greyne  had  in- 
troduced the  latter  to  the  former  as  his  guide, 
and  had  generously  praised  his  abilities;  but 
Mademoiselle  Verbena  took  very  little  notice 
of  him,  and,  as  time  went  on,  Abdallah  Jack 
seemed  to  conceive  a  most  distressing  dislike 
of  her.  On  several  occasions  he  advised  Mr. 
Greyne  not  to  frequent  her  company  so  as- 
siduously, and  when  Mr.  Greyne  asked  him  to 
explain  the  meaning  of  his  monitions  he 
took  refuge  in  vague  generalities  and  East- 
ern imagery.  He  had  a  profound  contempt 
for  women  as  companions,  which  grieved 
Mr.  Greyne's  Western  ideas,  and  evidently 

219 


THE    MISSION    OF 

thought  that  Mademoiselle  Verbena  ought  to 
be  clapped  forthwith  into  a  long  veil,  and  put 
away  in  a  harem  behind  an  iron  grille.  When 
Mr.  Greyne  explained  the  English  point  of 
view  Abdallah  Jack  took  refuge  in  a  sulky 
silence;  but  during  the  week  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Greyne  his  temper 
had  become  actively  bad,  and  Mr.  Greyne  be- 
gan seriously  to  consider  whether  it  would  not 
be  better  to  pay  him  a  last  douceur,  and  tell 
him  to  go  about  his  business. 

Before  doing  this,  however,  Mr.  Greyne  de- 
sired to  have  one  more  interview  with  the  mys- 
terious Ouled  on  the  heights,  to  whom  he  owed 
the  knowledge  which  would  henceforth  enable 
him  to  cut  out  the  militia.  He  said  so  to  Ab- 
dallah Jack.  The  latter  agreed  sulkily  to  ar- 
range it;  and  matters  so  fell  out  that  on  the 
night  of  Mrs.  Greyne's  arrival  her  husband 
was  seated  in  a  room  in  one  of  the  remotest 
houses  of  the  Kasbah,  watching  the  Ouled's 
mysterious  evolutions,  while  Mademoiselle 
Verbena — as  she  herself  had  informed  Mr. 
Greyne — sat  in  the  hospital  by  the  bedside  of 
her  still  dying  mother.  Abdallah  Jack  had 
apparently  been  most  anxious  to  assist  at  Mr. 
Greyne's  interview  with  the  Ouled,  but  Mr. 
Greyne  had  declined  to  allow  this.  The  evil 
temper  of  the  guide  was  beginning  to  get  thor- 
oughly upon  his  employer's  nerves,  and  even 
the  natural  desire  to  have  an  interpreter  at 
hand  was  overborne  by  the  dislike  of  Abdallah 

220 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

Jack's  morose  eyes  and  sarcastic  speeches 
about  women.  Moreover,  the  Ouled  spoke  a 
word  or  two  of  uncertain  French. 

Thus,  therefore,  things  fell  out,  and  such 
was  the  precise  situation  when  Mrs.  Greyne 
flicked  a  crumb  from  her  chocolate  brocade 
gown,  tied  her  bonnet  strings,  and  rose  from 
table  to  set  forth  to  the  Kasbah  with  Abdallah 
Jack. 

It  was  a  radiant  night.  In  the  clear  sky  the 
stars  shone  brilliantly,  looking  down  upon 
the  persistent  convulsions  of  the  little  chasseur, 
who  had  not  yet  recovered  from  his  attack  of 
merriment  on  learning  who  Mrs.  Greyne  was. 
The  sea,  quite  calm  now  that  the  great  novelist 
was  no  longer  upon  it,  lapped  softly  along  the 
curving  shdres  of  the  bay.  The  palm-trees  of 
the  town  garden  where  the  band  plays  on 
warm  evenings  waved  lazily  in  the  soft  and 
scented  breeze.  The  hooded  figures  of  the 
Arabs  lounged  against  the  stone  wall  that  gir- 
dles the  sea-front.  In  the  brilliantly-illumi- 
nated restaurants  the  rich  French  population 
gathered  about  the  little  tables,  while  the  with- 
ered beggars  stared  in  upon  the  oyster  shells, 
the  champagne  bottles,  and  the  feathers  in  the 
women's  audacious  hats. 

When  Mrs.  Greyne  emerged  upon  the  pave- 
ment before  the  Grand  Hotel,  attended  by 
Mrs.  Forbes  and  the  guide,  she  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  cast  a  searching  glance  upon  the 
fairy  -scene.  In  this  voluptuous  evening  and 

221 


THE   MISSION   OF 

strange  environment  life  seemed  oddly  dream- 
like. She  scarcely  felt  like  Mrs.  Greyne. 
Possibly  Mrs.  Forbes  also  felt  unlike  herself, 
for  she  suddenly  placed  one  hand  upon  her  left 
side,  and  tottered.  Abdallah  Jack  supported 
her.  She  screamed  aloud. 

"  Madam  1 "  she  said.  "  It  is  the  vertigo.  I 
am  overtook! " 

She  was  really  ill;  her  face,  indeed,  became 
the  colour  of  a  plover's  egg. 

"  Let  me  go  to  bed,  madam,"  she  implored. 
"It  is  the  vertigo,  madam.  I  am  overtook!  " 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Mrs.  Greyne 
would  have  prescribed  a  dose  of  Kasbah  air, 
but  to-night  she  felt  strange,  and  she  wanted 
strangeness.  Mrs.  Forbes  with  the  vertigo,  in 
a  small  carriage,  would  be  inappropriate.  She, 
therefore,  bade  her  retire,  mounted  into  the 
vehicle  with  Abdallah  Jack,  and  was  quickly 
driven  away,  her  bonnet  strings  floating  upon 
the  winsome  wind. 

"  You  know  my  husband?  "  she  asked  softly 
of  the  guide. 

Abdallah  Jack  replied  in  French  that  he 
rather  thought  he  did. 

"  How  is  he  looking? "  continued  Mrs. 
Greyne  in  a  slightly  yearning  voice.  "  My 
Eustace! "  she  added  to  herself,  "  my  devoted 
one!" 

"  Monsieur  Greyne  is  pale  as  washed  linen 
upon  the  Kasbah  wall;"  replied  Abdallah  Jack, 
lighting  a  cigarette,  and  wreathing  the  great 

222 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

novelist  in  its  grey-blue  smoke.  "  He  is  thin 
as  the  Spahi's  lance,  he  is  nervous  as  the  leaves 
of  the  eucalyptus-tree  when  the  winds  blow 
from  the  north." 

Mrs.  Greyne  was  seriously  perturbed. 

4  Would  I  had  come  before!"  she  mur- 
mured, with  serious  self-reproach. 

"  Monsieur  Greyne  is  worse  than  all  the 
English,"  pursued  Abdallah  Jack  in  a  voice 
that  sounded  to  Mrs.  Greyne  decidedly  sin- 
ister. "  He  is  worse  than  the  tourists  of  Rook, 
who  laugh  in  the  doorways  of  the  mosques  and 
twine  in  their  hair  the  dried  lizards  of  the 
Sahara.  Even  the  guide  of  Rook  rejected  him. 
I  only  would  undertake  him  because  I  am  full 
of  evil." 

Mrs.  Greyne  began  to  feel  distinctly  un- 
comfortable, and  to  wish  she  had  not  been  so 
ready  to  pander  to  Mrs.  Forbes'  vertigo.  She 
stole  a  sidelong  glance  at  her  strange  compan- 
ion. The  carriage  was  small.  The  end  of  his 
bristling  black  moustache  was  very  near. 
What  he  said  of  Mr.  Greyne  did  not  disturb 
her,  because  she  knew  that  her  Eustace  had 
sacrificed  his  reputation  to  do  her  service;  but 
what  he  said  about  himself  was  not  reassur- 
ing. 

"  I  think  you  must  be  doing  yourself  an  in- 
justice," she  said  in  a  rather  agitated  voice. 

"Madame?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  are  so  bad  as  you  im- 
ply," she  continued. 

223 


THE   MISSION   OF 

The  carriage  turned  with  a  jerk  out  of 
the  brilliantly-lighted  thoroughfare  that  runs 
along  the  sea  into  a  narrow  side  street,  crowd- 
ed with  native  Jews,  and  dark  with  shadows. 

"  Madame  does  not  know  me." 

The  exact  truth  of  this  observation  struck 
home,  like  a  dagger,  to  the  mind  of  Mrs. 
Greyne. 

"  I  am  a  wicked  person,"  added  Abdallah 
Jack,  with  a  profound  conviction.  "  That  is 
why  Monsieur  Greyne  chose  me  as  his  guide." 

The  novelist  began  to  quake.  Her  choco- 
late brocade  fluttered.  Was  she  herself  to 
learn  at  first  hand,  and  on  her  first  evening  in 
Africa,  enough  about  African  frailty  to  last 
her  for  the  rest  of  her  life?  And  how  much 
more  of  life  would  remain  to  her  after  her 
stock  of  knowledge  had  been  thus  increased? 
The  carriage  turned  into  a  second  side  street, 
narrower  and  darker  than  the  last. 

"  Are  we  going  right?  "  she  said  apprehen- 
sively. 

"No,  madame;  we  are  going  wrong — we  are 
going  to  the  wicked  part  of  the  city." 

"  But — but — you  are  sure  Mr.  Greyne  will 
be  there?" 

Abdallah  Jack  laughed  sardonically. 

"  Monsieur  Greyne  is  never  anywhere  else. 
Monsieur  Greyne  is  wicked  as  is  a  mad  Tou- 
areg  of  the  desert." 

"  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  my 
husband,"  said  Mrs.  Greyne,  feeling  in  duty 

224: 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

bound  to  stand  up  for  her  poor,  maligned 
Eustace.  "  Whatever  he  may  have  done  he 
has  done  at  my  special  request." 

"Madame  says?" 

"  I  say  that  in  all  his  proceedings  while  in 
Algiers  Mr.  Greyne  has  been  acting  under  my 
directions." 

Abdallah  Jack  fixed  his  enormous  eyes 
steadily  upon  her. 

4  You  are  his  wife,  and  told  him  to  come 
here,  and  to  do  as  he  has  done?  " 

"  Ye-yes,"  faltered  Mrs.  Greyne,  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  feeling  as  if  she  were  be- 
ing escorted  towards  the  criminal  dock  by  a 
jailer  with  Puritan  tendencies. 

"  Then  it  is  true  what  they  say  on  the  shores 
of  the  great  canal,"  he  remarked  composedly. 

"  What  do  they  say? "  inquired  Mrs. 
Greyne. 

"  That  England  is  a  land  of  female  devils," 
returned  the  guide  as  the  carriage  plunged  in- 
to a  filthy  alley,  between  two  rows  of  blind 
houses,  and  began  to  ascend  a  steep  hill. 

Mrs.  Greyne  gasped.  She  opened  her  lips 
to  protest  vigorously,  but  her  head  swam— 
either  from  indignation  or  from  fatigue — and 
she  could  not  utter  a  word.  The  horses  mount- 
ed like  cats  upward  into  the  dense  blackness, 
from  which  dropped  down  the  faint  sounds  of 
squealing  music  and  of  hoarse  cries  and  laugh- 
ter. The  wheels  bounded  over  the  stones,  sank 
into  the  deep  ruts,  scraped  against  the  sides 

225 


THE   MISSION   OE 

of  the  unlighted  houses.  And  Abdallah  Jack 
sat  staring  at  Mrs.  Greyne  as  an  English 
clergyman's  wife  might  stare  at  the  appalling 
rites  of  some  deadly  cannibal  encountered  in  a 
far-off  land,  with  a  stony  wonder,  a  sort  of 
paralysed  curiosity. 

Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped  on  a  piece 
of  waste  land  covered  with  small  pebbles.  Ab- 
dallah Jack  sprang  out. 

'Why  do  we  stop?"  said  Mrs.   Greyne, 
turning  as  pale  as  ashes. 

"  The  carriage  can  go  no  farther.  Madame 
must  walk." 

Mrs.  Greyne  began  to  tremble. 

'  We  are  to  leave  the  coachman?  " 

"  I  shall  escort  madame,  alone." 

The  great  novelist's  tongue  cleaved  to  the 
roof  of  her  mouth.  She  felt  like  a  Merrin's 
exercise-book,  every  leaf  of  which  was  covered 
with  African  frailty.  However,  there  was  no 
help  for  it.  She  had  to  descend,  and  stand 
among  the  pebbles. 

'  Where  are  we  going?  " 

Abdallah  Jack  waved  his  hand  towards  a 
stone  rampart  dimly  seen  in  the  faint  light 
that  emanated  from  the  starry  sky. 

"  Down  there  into  the  alley  of  the  Dead 
Dervishes." 

Mrs.  Greyne  could  not  repress  a  cry  of  hor- 
ror. At  that  moment  she  would  have  given  a 
thousand  pounds  to  have  Mrs.  Forbes  at  her 
side. 

226 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

Abdallah  Jack  grasped  her  by  the  hand,  and 
led  her  ruthlessly  forward.  Gazing  with  ter- 
ror-stricken eyes  over  the  crumbling  rampart 
of  the  Kasbah,  she  saw  the  city  far  below  her, 
the  lights  of  the  streets,  the  lights  of  the  ships 
in  harbour.  She  heard  the  music  of  a  bugle, 
and  wished  she  were  a  Zouave  safe  in  barracks. 
She  wished  she  were  a  German-Swiss  porter,  a 
merry  chasseur — anything  but  Mrs.  Eustace 
Greyne.  One  thing  alone  supported  her  in 
this  hour  of  trial,  the  thought  of  her  husband's 
ecstasy  when  she  appeared  upon  the  dread 
scene  of  his  awful  labours,  to  tell  him  that 
he  was  released,  that  he  need  visit  them  no 
more. 

The  alley  of  the  Dead  Dervishes  is  long  and 
winding.  To  Mrs.  Greyne  it  seemed  endless. 
As  she  threaded  it  with  faltering  step,  gripped 
by  the  feverish  hand  of  Abdallah  Jack,  who 
now  began  to  display  a  strange  and  terrible 
excitement,  she  became  a  centre  of  curiosity. 
Unwashed  Arabs,  rakish  Zouaves  in  blue  and 
red,  wandering  Jews  of  various  nationalities, 
unveiled  dancing-girls  covered  with  jewels, 
stared  in  wonder  upon  the  chocolate  brocade 
and  the  floating  bonnet  strings,  followed  upon 
her  footsteps,  pointing  with  painted  fingers, 
and  making  remarks  of  a  personal  nature  in 
French,  Arabic,  and  other  unknown  tongues. 
She  moved  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd,  on  and  on 
before  lighted  interiors  from  which  wild  music 
flowed. 

227 


THE    MISSION    OF 

"  Shall  we  never  be  there?  "  she  panted  to 
Abdallah  Jack.  "  My  limbs  refuse  their 
office."  She  jogged  against  a  Tunisian  Jew- 
ess in  a  pointed  hat,  and  rebounded  upon  an 
enormous  Riff  in  a  tattered  sheep-skin.  "  I 
can  go  no  farther." 

"We  are  there!  Behold  the  house  of  the 
Ouled!" 

As  he  uttered  the  last  word  he  burst  into  a 
bitter  laugh,  and  drew  Mrs.  Greyne,  now 
gasping  for  breath,  through  an  open  doorway 
into  a  little  hall  of  imitation  marble,  with 
fluted  pillars  adorned  with  oilcloth,  and  walls 
hung  with  imported  oleographs.  From  a 
chamber  on  the  right,  near  a  winding  staircase 
covered  with  blue-and-white  tiles,  came  the 
sound  of  laughter,  of  song,  and  of  a  hideous 
music  conveyed  to  the  astonied  ear  by  pipes 
and  drums. 

"They  are  in  there!"  exclaimed  Abdallah 
Jack,  folding  his  arms,  and  looking  at  Mrs. 
Greyne.  "  Go  to  your  husband!  " 

Mrs.  Greyne  put  her  hands  to  her  magnifi- 
cent forehead,  and  tottered  forward.  She 
reached  the  door,  she  pushed  it,  she  entered. 
There  upon  a  wooden  dais,  surrounded  by  gilt 
mirrors  and  artificial  roses,  she  beheld  her  hus- 
band, in  a  check  suit  and  a  white  Homburg 
hat,  performing  the  wildest  evolutions,  while 
opposite  him  a  lady,  smothered  in  coloured 
silks  and  coins,  tattooed  and  painted,  dyed  and 
scented,  covered  with  kohl  and  crowned  with 

228 


MR.    EUSTACE    GREYNE 

ostrich  feathers,  screamed  a  nasal  chant  of  the 
East,  and  bounded  like  an  electrified  monkey. 

"  Eustace!  "  cried  Mrs.  Greyne,  leaning  for 
support  against  an  oleograph. 

Her  husband  turned. 

"Eustace!"  she  cried  again.     "It  is  I!" 

He  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone.  Mrs. 
Greyne  hesitated,  started,  moved  forward  to 
the  dais,  and  stared  upon  the  Ouled,  who  had 
also  ceased  from  dancing,  and  looked  strange- 
ly surprised,  even  confused,  by  the  great  nov- 
elist's intrusion. 

"Miss  Verbena!"  s^ie  exclaimed.  "Miss 
Verbena  in  Algiers !  " 

"Eugenia!"  said  Mr.  Greyne  in  a  husky 
voice,  "  what  is  this  you  say?  This  lady  is  the 
Ouled." 

A  sardonic  laugh  came  from  the  doorway. 
They  turned.  There  stood  Abdallah  Jack. 
He  advanced  roughly  to  the  Ouled. 

"  Come,"  he  said  angrily.  "  Have  we  not 
earned  the  money  of  the  stranger?  Have  we 
not  earned  enough?  To-morrow  you  shall 
marry  me  as  you  have  promised,  and  we  will 
return  to  our  own  land,  to  the  canal  where  you 
and  I  were  born.  And  nevermore  shall  the 
Levantine  instruct  the  babes  of  the  English 
devils,  but  dwell  veiled  and  guarded  in  the 
harem  of  her  master." 

"  Mademoiselle  Verbena!  "  said  Mr. Greyne 
in  a  more  husky  voice.  "  But — but — your  dy- 
ing mother? " 

229 


MR.   EUSTACE    GREYNE 

"  She  sleeps,  monsieur,  in  the  white  sands 
of  Ismailia,  beside  the  bitter  lake.  I  trust  that 
madame  can  now  go  on  with  the  respectable 
'  Catherine.' J 

And  with  an  ironic  reverence  to  Mrs.  Eus- 
tace Greyne  she  placed  her  hand  in  Abdallah 
Jack's  and  vanished  from  the  room. 

"  Catherine's  Repentance,"  published  in  a 
gigantic  volume  not  many  weeks  ago,  was  pre- 
ceded by  Mr.  Eustace  Greyne's.  When  last 
heard  of  he  was  seated  in  the  magnificent 
library  of  the  corner  house  in  Park  Lane 
next  to  the  Duke  of  Ebury's,  busily  engaged 
in  pasting  the  newspaper  notices  of  Mrs. 
Greyne's  greatest  work  into  a  superb  new 
album. 

The  Abdallah  Jacks  have  returned  to  the 
Suez  Canal,  bearing  with  them  a  snug  little 
fortune  to  be  invested  in  the  purchase  of  a  coal 
wharf  at  Port  Said,  and  a  remarkably  hand- 
some crocodile  dressing-case,  fitted  with  gold, 
and  monogrammed  with  the  initials  "  E.  G." 


230 


DESERT    AIR 


ON  an  evening  of  last  summer  I  was  din- 
ing in  London  at  the  Carlton  with  two 
men.  One  of  them  was  an  excellent  type  of 
young  England,  strong,  healthy,  athletic,  and 
straightforward.  The  other  was  a  clever  Lon- 
don doctor  who  was  building  up  a  great  prac- 
tice in  the  West  End.  At  dessert  the  conver- 
sation turned  upon  a  then  recent  tragedy  in 
which  a  great  reputation  had  gone  down,  and 
young  England  spoke  rather  contemptuously 
of  the  victim,  with  the  superior  surprise  human 
beings  generally  express  about  the  sin  which 
does  not  happen  to  be  theirs. 

"  I  can't  understand  it!  "  was  his  conclusion. 
"  It's  beyond  me." 

"  Climate,"  said  the  doctor  quietly. 

"What?" 

"Climate.    Air." 

Young  England  looked  inexpressively  as- 
tonished. 

"But  hang  it  all!"  he  exclaimed,  "you 
don't  mean  to  say  change  of  air  means  change 
of  nature? " 

"  Not  to  everyone.  Not  to  you,  perhaps. 
Have  you  travelled  much?  " 

231 


DESERT   AIR 

"  Well,  IVe  been  to  Paris  for  the  Grand 
Prix,  and  to  Monte 

"  For  the  gambling.  That's  hardly  travel- 
ling. Now,  IVe  studied  this  subject  a  little, 
quietly  in  Harley  Street.  I'm  no  traveller  my- 
self, but  I  have  dozens  of  patients  who  are. 
And  I'm  convinced  that  the  modern  facilities 
for  travel,  besides  giving  an  infinity  of  pleas- 
ure, bring  about  innumerable  tragedies." 

He  turned  to  me. 

"  You  go  abroad  a  great  deal.  What  do 
you  say?  " 

"  That  you're  perfectly  right.  And  I'm  pre- 
pared to  affirm  that,  in  highly-strung,  imag- 
inative, or  over-worked  people  change  of  cli- 
mate does  sometimes  actually  cause,  or  seem  to 
cause,  change  of  nature." 

Young  England,  who  was  by  no  means 
highly-strung  or  imaginative,  looked  politely 
dubious,  but  the  doctor  was  evidently  pleased. 

"An  ally!  "he  cried. 

He  glanced  at  me  for  an  instant,  then 
added: 

1  You've  got  a  case  that  proves  it,  at  any 
rate  to  you,  in  your  mind." 

"  Quite  true." 

"  Can  you  give  it  us? " 

"Jove!  let's  have  it!"  exclaimed  young 
England. 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like,"  I  said.  "  I  don't 
know  whether  you  ever  heard  of  the  Marnier 
affair? " 


DESERT   AIR 

Young  England  shook  his  head,  but  the 
doctor  replied  at  once. 

"  Three  years  ago,  wasn't  it?  " 

"  Four." 

"  And  it  happened  in  some  remote  place  in 
the  Sahara  Desert?" 

"  In  Beni-Kouidar.  I  was  with  Henry 
Marnier  in  Beni-Kouidar  at  the  time." 

"  Go  ahead! "  said  young  England  more 
eagerly. 

"  Poor  Marnier  was  not  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  but  an  acquaintance  whom  I  had  met 
casually  at  Beni-Mora,  which  is  known  as  a 
health  resort." 

"  I  send  patients  there  sometimes,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  The  railway  stops  at  Beni-Mora.  To 
reach  Beni-Kouidar  one  must  go  on  horse  or 
camel  back  over  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred kilometres  of  desert,  sleeping  on  the  way 
at  Travellers'  Houses — Bordjs  as  they  are 
called  there.  Beni-Kouidar  lies  in  the  midst 
of  immeasurable  sands,  and  the  air  that  blows 
through  its  palm  gardens,  and  round  its 
mosque  towers,  and  down  its  alleys  under  the 
arcades,  is  startling:  dry  as  the  finest  cham- 
pagne, almost  fiercely  pure  and  fresh,  exhilar- 
ating— well,  too  exhilarating  for  certain  peo- 
ple." 

The  doctor  nodded. 

"  Champagne  goes  very  quickly  to  some 
heads,"  he  interjected. 

233 


DESERT   AIR 

"  Beni-Kouidar  has  nothing  to  say  to  mod- 
ern civilisation.  It  is  a  wild  and  turbulent  city, 
divided  into  quarters — the  Arab  quarter,  the 
Jews'  quarter,  the  freed  negroes'  quarter,  and 
so  on — and  furthermore,  is  infested  at  certain 
seasons  by  the  Sahara  nomads,  who  camp  in 
filthy  tents  on  the  huge  sand  dunes  round 
about,  and  sell  rugs,  burnouses,  and  Touareg 
work  to  the  inhabitants,  buying  in  return  the 
dates  for  which  the  palms  of  Beni-Kouidar 
are  celebrated. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  a  real  Sahara  city  to  which 
the  Cook's  tourist  had  not  as  yet  penetrated, 
and  I  resolved  to  ride  there  from  Beni-Mora. 
When  Henry  Marnier  heard  of  it  he  asked  if 
he  might  accompany  me. 

"  Marnier  was  a  young  man  who  had  re- 
cently left  Oxford,  and  who  had  come  out  to 
Beni-Mora  only  a  week  before  to  see  his  moth- 
er, who  was  going  through  the  sulphur  cure. 
He  was  what  is  generally  called  a  '  serious- 
minded  young  man ' ;  intellectual,  inclined  to 
grave  reading  and  high  thinking,  totally  de- 
void of  frivolity,  a  little  cold  in  manner  and 
temperament,  one  would  have  sworn ;  in  fact,  a 
type  of  a  very  well-known  kind  of  Oxford 
undergraduate,  the  kind  that  takes  a  good  tu- 
torship for  a  year  or  so  after  leaving  the  Uni- 
versity, and  then  becomes  a  schoolmaster  or  a 
clergyman.  Marnier,  by  the  way,  intended  to 
take  orders. 

"  Now,  this  sort  of  young  man  is  not  pre- 
234 


DESERT   AIR 

cisely  my  sort,  and  especially  not  my  sort  in 
the  Sahara  Desert.  But  I  did  not  want  to  be 
rude  to  Marnier,  who  was  friendly  and  agree- 
able, and  obviously  anxious  to  increase  his  al- 
ready considerable  store  of  knowledge.  So  I 
put  my  inclinations  in  my  pocket,  and,  with 
inward  reluctance,  I  agreed. 

"  We  set  off  with  Safti,  my  faithful  one- 
eyed  Arab  guide,  and  after  three  long  days  of 
riding  and  talking — as  I  had  feared — Maeter- 
link  and  Tolstoy,  Henley  and  Verlaine  (this 
last  being  utterly  corfcLemned  by  Marnier  as  a 
man  of  weak  character  and  degraded  life) 
we  saw  the  towers  of  Beni-Kouidar  aspiring 
above  the  shifting  sands,  the  tufted  summits 
of  the  thousands  of  palm-trees,  and  heard  the 
dull  beating  of  drums  and  the  cries  of  people 
borne  to  us  over  the  spaces  of  which  silence  is 
the  steady  guardian. 

"  We  were  all  pretty  tired,  but  Marnier  was 
especially  done  up.  He  had  recently  been 
working  very  hard  for  the  *  first '  with  which 
he  had  left  Oxford,  and  was  not  in  good  con- 
dition. We  were,  therefore,  glad  enough  when 
we  rode  through  the  wide  street  thronged  with 
natives,  turned  the  corner  into  the  great  camel 
market,  and  finally  dismounted  before  the 
door  of  the  one  inn,  the  '  Rendezvous  des 
Amis/  a  mean,  dusty,  one-storey  building,  on 
whose  dirty  white  wall  was  a  crude  painting  of 
a  preposterous  harridan  in  a  purple  empire 
gown,  pouring  wine  for  a  Zouave  who  was 

235 


DESERT    AIR 

evidently  afflicted  with  elephantiasis.  Yet, 
tired  as  I  was,  I  stepped  out  into  the  camel 
market  for  a  moment  before  going  into  the 
house,  emptied  my  lungs,  and  slowly  filled 
them. 

"  '  What  air! '  I  said  to  Marnier,  who  had 
followed  me. 

'  It  is  extraordinary,'  he  answered  in  his 
rather  dry  tenor  voice.  '  I  should  say  like  the 
best  champagne,  if  I  did  not  happen  to  be  a 
teetotaller.' 

"  (The  market,  I  must  explain,  was  not  at 
that  moment  in  active  operation. ) 

"  After  a  bain  de  siege — we  both  longed  for 
total  immersion —  and  some  weak  tea,  in  which 
I  mingled  a  spoonful  of  rum,  we  felt  better, 
but  we  reposed  till  dinner,  and  once  again 
Marnier,  in  his  habitually  restrained  and  criti- 
cal manner,  discussed  contemporary  literature, 
and  what  Plato  and  Aristotle,  judging  by} 
their  writings,  would  have  been  likely  to  think 
of  it.  And  once  again  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in 
the  '  High '  at  Oxford,  and  was  almost  in- 
clined to  wish  that  Marnier  was  the  rowdy 
type  of  undergrad,  who  ducks  people  in  water 
troughs  and  makes  bonfires  in  quads." 

"  H'm!  "  said  the  doctor  gravely.  "  Better, 
perhaps,  if  he  had  been." 

"  Much  better,"  I  answered.  "  At  seven 
o'clock  we  ate  a  rather  tough  dinner  in  the 
small,  bare  salle-a-manger ,  on  the  red  brick 
floor  of  which  sand  grains  were  lying.  Our 

236 


DESERT   AIR 

only  companion  was  a  bearded  priest  in  a  dirty 
soutane,  the  aumonier  of  Beni-Kouidar,  who 
sat  at  a  little  table  apart,  and  greeted  our  en- 
trance with  a  polite  bow,  but  did  not  then 
speak  to  us. 

"  When  the  meal  was  ended,  however,  he 
joined  us  as  we  stood  at  the  inn  door  looking 
out  into  the  night.  A  moon  was  rising  above 
the  palms,  and  gilding  the  cupolas  of  the  Bu- 
reau Arabe  on  the  far  side  of  the  Market 
Square.  A  distant  noise  of  tomtoms  and  Afri- 
can pipes  was  audible.  And  all  down  the  hill 
to  our  left — for  the  l^nd  rose  to  where  the  inn 
stood — fires  gleamed,  and  we  could  see  half- 
naked  figures  passing  and  repassing  them,  and 
others  squatting  beside,  looking  like  monks  in 
their  hooped  burnouses. 

"  '  You  are  going  out,  messieurs? '  said  the 
aumonier  politely. 

"  I  looked  at  Marnier. 

"  '  You're  too  done  up,  I  expect? '  I  said  to 
him. 

"  His  face  was  pale,  and  he  certainly  had 
the  demeanour  of  a  tired  man. 

"  *  No/  he  answered.  '  I  should  like  to  stroll 
in  this  wonderful  air.' 

"  I  turned  to  the  priest. 

"  '  Yes,  monsieur/  I  said. 

'  I  come  here  to  take  my  meals,  but  I 
live  at  the  edge  of  the  town.  Perhaps  you 
will  permit  me  to  accompany  you  for  a  little 
way/ 

237 


DESERT   AIR 

" '  We  shall  be  delighted,  and  we  know 
nothing  of  Beni-Kouidar.' 

"  As  we  stepped  out  into  the  market  Mar- 
nier paused  to  light  his  pipe.  But  suddenly 
he  threw  away  the  match  he  had  struck. 

'  No,  it's  a  sin  to  smoke  in  this  air,'  he  said. 

"  And  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  looking  at  the 
round  moon. 

"  The  priest  smiled. 

'  I  have  lived  here  for  four  years,'  he  said, 
'  and  cannot  resist  my  cigar.  But  you  are 
right.  The  air  of  Beni-Kouidar  is  extraor- 
dinary. When  first  I  came  here  it  used  to 
mount  to  my  head  like  wine.' 

"  '  Bad  for  you,  Marnier! '  I  said,  laughing. 

'  Then  I  added,  to  the  aumonier: 

"  '  My  friend  never  drinks  wine,  and  so 
ought  to  be  peculiarly  susceptible  to  such  an 
influence.' 


238 


DESERT    AIR 


II 

"  OPPOSITE  to  the  aumonier's  dwelling  was  the 
great  dancing-house  of  the  town,  and  when 
we  had  bade  him  good-night,  and  turned  to  go 
back  to  the  inn,  I  rather  tentatively  suggested 
to  Marnier  that,  perhaps,  it  would  be  interest- 
ing to  look  in  there  for  a  moment. 

'  All  right/  he  responded,  with  his  most 
donnish  manner.  '  But  I  expect  it  will  be 
rather  an  unwashed  crowd.' 

"  A  quantity  of  native  soldiers — the  sort 
that  used  to  be  called  Turcos — were  gathered 
round  the  door.  We  pushed  our  way  through 
them,  and  entered.  The  cafe  was  large,  with 
big  white  pillars  and  a  double  row  of  divans 
in  the  middle,  and  divans  rising  in  tiers 
all  round.  On  the  left  was  a  large  door- 
way, in  which  gorgeously-dressed  painted 
women,  with  gold  crowns  on  their  heads,  were 
standing,  smoking  cigarettes,  and  laughing 
with  the  Arabs;  and  at  the  end  farthest  from 
the  street  entrance  was  a  raised  platform,  on 
which  sat  three  musicians — a  wild-looking 
demon  of  a  man  blowing  into  an  instrument 
with  an  immense  funnel,  and  two  men  beating 
tomtoms.  The  noise  they  made  was  terrific. 
The  piper  wore  a  voluminous  burnouse,  and  as 

239 


DESERT   AIR 

the  dancers  came  in  in  pairs  from  the  big  door- 
way, which  led  into  the  court  where  they  all 
live  together,  each  in  her  separate  little  room 
with  her  own  front  door,  they  threw  their  door 
keys  into  the  hood  that  was  attached  to  it.  As 
soon  as  they  had  finished  dancing  they  wrent  to 
the  hood,  and  rummaged  violently  for  them 
again.  And  all  the  time  the  piper  blew  franti- 
cally into  his  instrument,  and  rocked  himself 
about  like  a  man  in  a  convulsion. 

'  We  sat  on  one  of  the  raised  divans,  with 
coffee  before  us  on  a  wooden  stool,  and  Mar- 
nier observed  it  all  with  a  slightly  supercilious 
coldness.  The  women,  who  were  dressed  in 
different  shades  of  red,  and  were  the  most 
amazing  trollops  I  ever  set  eyes  on,  came  and 
went  in  pairs,  fluttered  their  painted  fingers, 
twittered  like  startled  birds,  jumped  and 
twirled,  wriggled  and  revolved,  and  inclined 
their  greasy  foreheads  to  the  impenetrable 
spectators,  who  stuck  silver  coins  on  to  the  per- 
spiring flesh.  And  Marnier  sat  and  gazed  at 
them  with  the  aloofness  of  one  who  watches 
the  creatures  in  puddle  water  through  a  micro- 
scope. I  could  scarcely  help  laughing  at  him, 
but  I  wished  him  away.  For  to  me  there  was 
excitement,  there  was  even  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  in 
the  utter  barbarity  of  this  spectacle,  in  the 
moving  scarlet  figures  with  their  golden 
crowns  and  tufts  of  ostrich  plumes,  in  the  ser- 
ried masses  of  turbaned  and  hooded  specta- 
tors, in  the  rocking  forms  of  the  musicians,  in 

240 


DESERT    AIR 

the  strident  and  ceaseless  uproar  that  they; 
made. 

"  And  through  the  doorway  where  the  Tur- 
cos — I  like  the  old  name — crowded  I  saw  the 
sand  filtering  in  from  the  desert,  and  against 
the  black  leaves  of  a  solitary  palm-tree,  with 
leaves  like  giant  Fatma  hands,  I  saw  the  silver 
disc  of  the  moon. 

'  I  vote  we  go,'  said  Marnier's  light  tenor 
voice  in  my  ear.  '  The  atmosphere's  awful  in 
here.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  I  said. 

"I  got  up;  but  just  then  a  girl,  dressed 
in  midnight  purple  embroidered  with  silver, 
came  in  from  the  doorway,  and  began  to  dance 
alone.  She  was  very  young — fourteen,  I 
found  out  afterwards — and,  in  contrast  to  the 
other  women,  extremely  beautiful.  There  were 
grace,  seduction,  mystery,  and  coquetry  in  her 
face  and  in  all  her  movements.  Her  long 
black  eyes  held  fire  and  dreams.  Her  flutter- 
ing hands  seemed  beckoning  us  to  the  realms 
of  the  thousand  and  one  nights.  I  stood  where 
I  had  got  up,  and  watched  her. 

"  '  I  say,  aren't  we  going? '  said  Marnier's 
voice  in  my  ear. 

"  I  cursed  the  day  when  I  had  agreed  to 
take  him  with  me,  leaped  down  to  the  earth, 
and  struggled  towards  the  door.  As  we  neared 
it  the  girl  sidled  down  the  room  till  she  was  ex- 
actly in  front  of  Marnier.  Then  she  danced 
before  him,  smiling  with  her  immense  eyes, 

241 


DESERT   AIR 

which  she  fixed  steadily  upon  him,  and  bend- 
ing forward  her  pretty  head,  covered  with  a 
cloth  of  silver  handkerchief. 

"  '  Give  her  something,'  I  said  to  him,  laugh- 
ing, as  he  stared  back  at  her  grimly. 

"  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  found 
a  franc,  stuck  it  awkwardly  against  her  oval 
forehead,  and  followed  me  out. 

:<  When  we  were  in  the  sandy  street  he 
walked  a  few  steps  in  silence,  then  stood  still, 
and,  to  my  surprise,  stared  back  at  the 
dancing-house.  Then  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
head. 

1  Is  the  air  having  its  alcoholic  effect? '  I 
asked  in  joke. 

"  As  I  spoke  a  handsome  Arab,  splendidly 
dressed  in  a  pale  blue  robe,  red  gaiters  and 
boots,  and  a  turban  of  fine  muslin,  spangled 
with  gold,  passed  us  slowly,  going  towards  the 
dancing-house.  He  cast  a  glance  full  of  sus- 
picion and  malice  at  Marnier. 

666  What's  up  with  that  fellow?'  I  said, 
startled. 

:<  The  Arab  went  on,  and  at  that  moment 
the  faithful  Safti  joined  us.  He  never  left 
me  long  out  of  his  sight  in  these  outlandish 
places. 

"  '  That  is  the  Batouch  Sidi,  the  brother  of 
the  Caid  of  Beni-Kouidar/  he  said.  '  Algia, 
the  dancer  to  whom  Monsieur  Henri  has  just 
given  money,  is  his  chere  amie.  But  as  the 
government  has  just  made  him  a  sheik,  he 


DESERT   AIR 

dares  not  have  her  in  his  house  for  fear  of  the 
scandal.  So  he  has  put  her  with  the  dancers. 
That  is  why  she  dances,  to  deceive  everyone, 
not  to  make  money.  She  is  not  as  the  other 
dancers.  But  everyone  knows,  for  Batouch  is 
mad  with  jealousy.  He  cannot  bear  that 
Algia  should  dance  before  strangers,  but  what 
can  he  do?  A  sheik  must  not  have  a  scandal  in 
his  dwelling.' 

'  We  walked  on  slowly.  When  we  got  to 
the  door  of  the  '  Rendezvous  des  Amis '  Mar- 
nier stood  still  again,  and  looked  down  the  de- 
serted, moonlit  camel  market. 

" '  I  never  knew  air  like  this,'  he  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  And  once  more  he  expelled  the  air  from 
his  lungs,  and  drew  in  a  long,  slow  breath,  as  a 
man  does  when  he  has  finished  his  dumbbell 
exercise  in  the  morning. 

"  '  Don't  drink  too  much  of  it,'  I  said.  '  Re- 
member what  the  aumoriier  told  us ! ' 

"  Marnier  looked  at  me.  I  thought  there 
was  something  apprehensive  in  his  eyes.  But 
he  said  nothing,  and  we  turned  in. 

"  The  next  day  I  rode  out  with  Safti  into 
the  desert  to  visit  a  sacred  personage  of  great 
note  in  the  Sahara,  Sidi  El  Ahmed  Ben  Daoud 
Abderahmann.  To  my  relief  Marnier  de- 
clined to  come.  He  said  he  was  tired,  and 
would  stroll  about  the  city.  When  we  got 
back  at  sundown  the  innkeeper  handed  me  a 
note.  I  opened  it,  and  found  it  was  from  the 

243 


DESERT    AIR 

aumonier,  saying  that  he  would  be  greatly 
obliged  if  I  would  call  and  see  him  on  my  re- 
turn, as  he  had  various  little  curiosities  which 
he  would  be  glad  to  show  me.  Marnier  was 
not  in  the  inn,  and,  as  I  had  nothing  particular 
to  do,  I  walked  at  once  to  the  aumonier's  house. 
As  I  have  said,  it  was  the  last  in  the  town.  The 
dancing-house  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way;  but  the  aumonier's  dwelling  jutted  out 
a  little  farther  into  the  desert,  and  looked  full 
on  a  deep  depression  of  soft  sand  bounded  by 
a  big  dune,  which  loomed  up  like  a  couchant 
beast  in  the  fading  yellow  light. 

"  The  aumonier  met  me  at  his  door,  and  es- 
corted me  into  a  pleasant  room,  where  his  col- 
lection of  Arab  weapons,  coins,  and  old  vases, 
cups,  and  various  utensils,  dug  up,  he  told  me, 
at  Tlemcen,  was  arranged.  But  to  my  sur- 
prise he  scarcely  took  time  to  show  it  to  me  be- 
fore he  said : 

" '  Though  a  stranger,  may  I  venture  to 
speak  rather  intimately  to  you,  monsieur? ' 

" '  Certainly,'  I  replied,  in  some  astonish- 
ment. 

"  '  Your  friend  is  young.' 

"'Marnier?' 

"'Is  that  his  name?  Well,  I  would  riot 
leave  him  to  stroll  about  too  much  alone,  if  I 
were  you.' 

"  '  Why,  monsieur?  ' 

"  *  He  is  likely  to  get  into  trouble.  The  peo- 
ple here  are  a  wild  and  violent  race.  He  would 

244 


DESERT   AIR 

do  well  to  bear  in  mind  the  saying  of  a  travel- 
ler who  knew  the  desert  men  better  than  most 
people:  "If  you  want  to  be  friendly  with 
them,  and  safe  among  them,  give  cigarettes  to 
the  men,  and  leave  the  women  alone."  I  see 
a  good  deal,  monsieur,  owing  to  the  situation 
of  my  little  house.' 

"  I  looked  at  him  in  silence.    Then  I  said: 

"  '  What  have  you  seen? ' 

"  He  led  me  to  the  door,  and  pointed  to- 
wards the  great  dune  beyond  the  dancing- 
house. 

"  I  saw  your  friend  this  afternoon  talking 
there  with  one  whom  it  is  especially  unsafe  to 
be  seen  with  in  Beni-Kouidar.' 

"  '  With  whom? ' 

"  '  A  dancer  called  Algia.' 

"  *  Talking,  monsieur!  Marnier  knows  no 
Arabic.' 

"  The  aumonier  pursed  his  lips  in  his  black 
beard. 

"  '  The  conversation  appeared  to  be  carried 
on  by  signs/  he  responded.  *  That  did  not 
make  it  less  but  more  dangerous.' 

"I'm  afraid  I  was  rude,  and  whistled  softly. 

"  '  Monsieur  1'Aumonier,'  I  said,  '  you  must 
forgive  me,  but  this  air  is  certainly  the  very 
devil.' 

"  He  smiled,  not  without  irony. 

"  *  I  became  aware  of  that  myself,  monsieur, 
when  first  I  came  to  live  in  Beni-Kouidar.  But 
I  am  a  priest,  and — well,  monsieur,  I  was  giv- 

245 


DESERT    AIR 

en  the  strength  to  say:  "  Get  thee  behind  me, 
Satan." 

"  A  softer  look  came  into  his  sunburnt, 
wrinkled  face. 

"  '  Better  take  your  friend  away  as  soon  as 
possible/  he  added,  '  or  there  will  be  trouble/ 


246 


DESERT   AIR 


III 

"THAT  night  I  found  myself  confronted  by  a 
Marnier  whom  I  had  never  seen  before.  The 
desert  wine  had  gone  to  the  lad's  brain.  That 
was  certain.  No  intonations  of  the  Oxford 
don  lurked  in  the  voice.  No  reminiscences  of 
the  Oxford  '  High '  clung  about  the  manner. 
A  man  sober  and  the  same  man  drunk  are 
scarcely  more  different  than  the  Marnier  who 
had  ridden  with  me  up  the  sandy  street  of 
Beni-Kouidar  the  previous  day  and  the  man 
who  sat  opposite  to  me  at  dinner  in  the  '  Ren- 
dezvous des  Amis'  that  night.  I  knew  in  a 
moment  that  the  aumonier  was  right,  and  that 
I  must  get  the  lad  away  at  once  from  the  in- 
toxicant which  nature  poured  out  over  this 
far-away  city.  His  eyes  were  shining  fever- 
ishly, and  when  I  mentioned  Mr.  Ruskin  in  a 
casual  way  he  looked  unutterably  bored. 

*  Ruskin  and  all  those  fellows  seem  awful- 
ly slow  and  out  of  place  here,'  he  exclaimed. 
*  One  doesn't  want  to  bother  about  them  in  the 
Sahara.' 

"  I  changed  the  subject. 

6  There  doesn't  seem  very  much  to  see 
here,'  I  said  carelessly.  *  We  might  get  away 
the  day  after  to-morrow,  don't  you  think? ' 

"  He  drew  his  brows  down. 
247 


DESERT   AIR 

" '  The  horses  won't  be  sufficiently  rested/ 
he  said  curtly. 

"  '  Oh  yes ;  I  fancy  they  will.' 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  fancy  I  shall.  The  long 
ride  took  it  out  of  me.' 

*  Turn  in   to-night,   then,   directly   after 
dinner.' 

"  He  looked  at  me  with  sharp  Suspicion.  1 
met  his  gaze  blandly. 

'  I  mean  to,'  he  said  after  a  short  pause. 

"  I  knew  he  was  telling  me  a  lie,  but  I  only 
said :  '  That's  right ! '  and  resolved  to  keep  an 
eye  on  him. 

"  Directly  dinner  was  over  he  sprang  up 
from  the  table. 

"  *  Good-night,'  he  said. 

"  And  before  I  could  reply  he  was  out  of  the 
salle-a-manger,  and  I  heard  him  tramp  along 
the  brick  floor  of  the  passage,  go  into  his  room, 
and  bang  the  door. 

"  The  aumonier  was  getting  up  from  his 
little  table,  and  shaking  the  crumbs  from  his 
soutane. 

"  '  You  are  quite  right,  monsieur,'  I  said  to 
him.  '  I  must  get  my  friend  away.' 

"  *  I  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  you,'  replied  the 
good  priest.  '  But — desert  air,  desert  air! ' 

"  He  shook  his  head,  half  wistfully,  half 
laughingly,  bowed,  put  on  his  broad-brimmed 
black  hat,  and  went  out. 

"  After  a  moment  I  followed  him.  I  stood 
in  the  doorway  of  the  inn,  and  lit  a  cigar.  I 

248 


DESERT   AIR 

knew  Marnier  was  not  going  to  bed,  and 
meant  to  catch  him  when  he  came  out,  and  join 
him.  In  common  politeness  he  could  scarcely 
refuse  my  company,  since  he  had  asked  me  as 
a  favour  to  let  him  come  with  me  to  Beni-Koui- 
dar.  I  waited,  watching  the  moon  rise,  till  my 
cigar  was  smoked  out.  Then  I  lit  another. 
Still  he  did  not  come.  I  heard  the  distant 
throb  of  tomtoms  beyond  the  Bureau  Arabe 
in  the  quarter  of  the  freed  negroes.  They 
were  having  a  fantasia.  I  began  to  think  that 
I  must  have  been  mistaken,  and  that  Marnier 
had  really  turned  in.  So  much  the  better.  The 
ash  dropped  from  the  stump  of  my  second 
cigar,  and  the  deserted  camel  market  was 
flooded  with  silver  from  the  moon-rays.  I 
knew  there  was  only  one  door  to  the  inn. 
Slowly  I  lit  a  third  cigar. 

"  A  large  cloud  went  over  the  face  of  the 
moon.  A  gust  of  wind  struck  my  face.  Sud- 
denly the  night  had  changed.  The  moon 
looked  forth  again,  and  was  again  obscured. 
A  second  gust  struck  me  like  a  blow,  and  my 
face  was  stung  by  a  multitude  of  sand  grains. 
I  heard  steps  behind  me  in  the  brick  passage, 
turned  swiftly,  and  saw  the  landlord. 

" '  I  must  shut  the  door,  m'sieu,'  he  said. 
*  There's  a  bad  sandstorm  coming  up.' 

"  As  he  spoke  the  wind  roared,  and  over  the 
camel  market  a  thick  fog  seemed  to  fall  ab- 
ruptly. It  was  a  sheet  of  sand  from  the  sur- 
rounding dunes.  I  threw  away  my  cigar, 

249 


DESERT    AIR 

stepped  into  the  passage,  and  the  landlord 
banged  the  door,  and  drove  home  the  heavy 
bolts. 

:<  Then  I  went  to  Marnier 's  room,  and 
knocked.  I  felt  sure,  but  I  thought  I  would 
make  sure  before  going  to  my  room. 

"  No  answer. 

"  I  knocked  again  loudly. 

"  Again  no  answer. 

(  Then  I  turned  the  handle,  and  entered. 

'  The  room  was  empty.  I  glanced  round 
quickly.  The  small  window  was  open.  All 
the  windows  of  the  inn  were  barred,  but,  as  I 
learned  later,  a  bar  in  Manner's  had  been 
broken,  and  was  not  yet  replaced  when  we  ar- 
rived at  Beni-Kouidar.  In  consequence  of  this 
it  was  possible  to  squeeze  through  into  the  ar- 
cade outside.  This  was  what  Marnier  had 
done.  My  precise,  gentlemanly,  reserved,  and 
methodical  acquaintance  had  deliberately  giv- 
en me  the  slip  by  sneaking  out  of  a  window 
like  a  schoolboy,  and  creeping  round  the  edge 
of  the  inn  to  the  fosse  that  lay  in  the  shadow  of 
the  sand  dunes.  As  I  realised  this  I  realised 
his  danger. 

"  I  ran  to  my  room,  fetched  my  revolver, 
slipped  it  into  my  pocket,  and  hurried  to  the 
front  door.  The  landlord  heard  me  trying  to 
undo  the  bolts,  and  came  out  protesting. 

"  '  M'sieu  cannot  go  out  into  the  storm.' 
'  I  must.' 

"  *  But  m'sieu  does  not  know  what  Beni- 

250 


DESERT   AIR 

Kouidar  is  like  when  the  sand  is  blown  on  the 
wind.  It  is  enfer.  Besides,  it  is  not  safe.  In 
the  darkness  m'sieu  may  receive  a  mauvais 
coup.* 

"  '  Make  haste,  please,  and  open  the  door.  I 
am  going  to  fetch  my  friend.' 

"  He  pulled  the  bolts,  grumbling  and  swear- 
ing, and  I  went  out  into  enfer.  For  he  was 
right.  A  sandstorm  at  night  in  Beni-Kouidar 
is  hell. 

"  Luckily,  Safti  joined  me  mysteriously 
from  the  deuce  knows  where,  and  we  staggered 
to  the  dancing-house  somehow,  and  struggled 
in,  blinded,  our  faces  scored,  our  clothes  heavy 
with  sand,  our  pockets,  our  very  boots,  weighed 
down  with  it. 

'  The  tomtoms  were  roaring,  the  pipe  was 
yelling,  blown  by  the  frantic  demon  with  his 
hood  full  of  latch  keys,  the  impassible,  bearded 
faces  were  watching  the  painted  women  who, 
in  their  red  garments  and  their  golden  crowns, 
promenaded  down  the  earthen  floor,  between 
the  divans,  fluttering  their  dyed  fingers,  smil- 
ing grotesquely  like  idols,  bending  forward 
their  greasy  foreheads  to  receive  the  tribute  of 
their  admirers. 

"  I  ran  my  eyes  swiftly  over  the  mob.  Mar- 
nier was  not  in  it.  I  pushed  my  way  towards 
the  doorway  on  the  left  which  gave  on  to  the 
court  of  the  dancers. 

"  Safti  caught  hold  of  my  arm. 

" '  It  is  not  safe  to  go  in  there  on  such  a 
251 


DESERT    AIR 

night,  Sidi.  There  are  no  lamps.  It  is  black 
as  a  tomb.  And  no  one  can  tell  who  may  be 
there.  Nomads,  perhaps,  men  of  evil  from  the 
south.  Many  murders  have  been  done  in  the 
court  on  black  nights,  and  no  one  can  say  who 
has  done  them.  For  all  the  time  men  go  in  and 
out  to  the  rooms  of  the  dancers.' 

'  Nevertheless,  Safti,  I  must ' 

"  I  stopped  speaking,  for  at  this  moment 
Batouch,the  brother  of  theCaid  of  Beni-Koui- 
dar,  came  slowly  in  through  the  doorway  from 
the  blackness  of  the  sand-swept  court.  There 
was  a  strange  smile  on  his  handsome  face,  and 
he  was  caressing  his  black  beard  gently  with 
one  delicate  hand.  He  saw  me,  smiled  more 
till  I  caught  the  gleam  of  his  white  teeth, 
passed  on  into  the  dancing-house,  sat  down  on 
a  divan,  and  called  for  coffee.  I  could  not  take 
my  eyes  from  him.  Every  movement  he  made 
fascinated  me.  He  drew  from  his  pale  blue 
robe  a  silver  box,  opened  it,  lifted  out  a  pinch 
of  tobacco,  and  began  carefully  to  roll  a  cigar- 
ette. And  all  the  time  he  smiled. 

"  A  glacial  cold  crept  over  my  body.  As  he 
lit  his  cigarette  I  caught  hold  of  Safti,  and 
hurried  through  the  doorway  into  the  black- 
ness of  the  whirling  sand." 


Here  I  stopped. 

'  Well?  "  said  young  England.     "  Well? 
The  doctor  did  not  speak. 

252 


DESERT    AIR 

"Well,"  I  answered.  "  Algia  danced  that 
night.  While  she  was  dancing  we  found  a 
dead  body  in  the  court.  It  was  Marnier's.  A 
knife  had  been  thrust  into  him  from  behind!  " 

"Ah!  "said  the  doctor. 

"  But —  exclaimed  young  England,  "  it 
was  that  fellow?  It  was  Batouch?  " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"  Nobody  ever  found  out  who  did  it." 

:<  Well,  but  of  course " 

He  checked  himself,  and  an  expression  of 
admiration  dawned  slowly  over  his  healthy, 
handsome  face. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  to  be  able  to  roll  a  cigar- 
ette directly  afterwards!  What  infernal 
cheek!" 

"  Desert  air!  "  I  replied.  "  My  dear  chap — 
desert  air! " 

The  doctor  nodded. 


253 


'FIN    TIREUR* 

TWO  years  ago  I  was  travelling  by  dili- 
gence in  the  Sahara  Desert  on  the  great 
caravan  route,  which  starts  from  Beni-Mora 
and  ends,  they  say,  at  Tombouctou.  For  four- 
teen hours  each  day  we  were  on  the  road,  and 
each  evening  about  nine  o'clock  we  stopped  at 
a  Bordj,or  Travellers'  House, ate  a  hasty  meal, 
threw  ourselves  down  on  our  gaudy  Arab  rugs, 
and  slept  heavily  till  the  hour  before  dawn, 
drugged  by  fatigue  and  by  the  strong  air  of 
the  desert.  In  the  late  afternoon  of  the  third 
day  of  our  journeying  we  drove  into  a  sand- 
storm. A  great  wind  arose,  carrying  with  it 
innumerable  multitudes  of  sand  grains,  which 
whirled  about  the  diligence  and  the  struggling 
horses,  blotting  out  the  desert  as  completely  as 
a  London  fog  blots  out  the  street  on  a  Novem- 
ber day.  The  cold  became  intense,  and  very 
soon  I  began  to  long  for  the  next  halting- 
place. 

4  Where  do  we  stop  to-night?  "  I  shouted  to 
the  French  driver,  who,  with  his  yellow  toque 
pulled  down  over  his  ears,  was  chirping  en- 
couragement to  his  horses. 

"  Sidi-Hamdane,"  he  answered,  without 
turning  his  head.  "  At  the  inn  of  '  Fin 
Tireur.'  " 

255 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

Three  hours  later  we  drew  up  before  a  low 
building,  from  which  a  light  shone  kindly,  and 
I  scrambled  down  stiffly,  and  lurched  into  the 
longed-for  shelter. 

There  was  a  man  in  the  doorway,  a  short, 
sturdy,  middle-aged  Frenchman,  with  strong 
features,  a  tuft  of  grey  beard,  heavy  eyebrows, 
and  dark,  prominent  eyes,  with  a  hot,  shining 
look  in  them. 

ec  Bon  soir,  m'sieu,"  he  said. 

ff  Bon  soir"  I  answered. 

This  was  my  host,  the  innkeeper  whom  the 
driver  had  called  "  Fin  Tireur." 

I  found  out  afterwards  that  he  was  not  only 
landlord  of  the  desolate  inn,  but  cook,  garcon ; 
in  fact,  the  whole  personnel.  He  lived  there 
absolutely  alone,  and  was  the  only  European 
in  this  Arab  village  lost  in  the  great  spaces  of 
the  Sahara.  This  information  I  drew  from 
him  while  he  waited  upon  me  at  dinner,  which 
I  ate  in  solitude.  My  companions  of  the  dili- 
gence were  Arabs,  who  had  melted  away  like 
ghosts  into  the  desolation  so  soon  as  the  dili- 
gence had  rolled  into  the  paved  courtyard 
round  which  the  one-storied  house  was  built. 

When  I  had  finished  dinner  I  lit  a  cigar.  I 
was  now  quite  alone  in  the  bare  salle-a-manger. 
The  storm  was  at  its  height;  the  sand  was  driv- 
en like  hail  against  the  wooden  shutters  of  the 
windows,  and  I  felt  dreary  enough.  The 
French  driver  was  no  doubt  supping  in  the 

256 


"FIN   TIREUR" 

kitchen  with  the  landlord,  perhaps  beside  a 
fire.  I  began  to  long  for  company,  for 
warmth,  and  I  resolved  to  join  them.  I 
opened  the  door,  therefore,  and  peered  out  into 
the  passage.  There  was  no  sound  of  voices; 
but  I  saw  a  light  at  a  little  distance,  went  to- 
wards it,  and  found  myself  in  a  small  kitchen, 
where  the  landlord  was  sitting  alone  by  a  red 
wood  fire  in  the  midst  of  his  pots  and  pans, 
smoking  a  thin  black  cigar,  and  reading  a 
dirty  number  of  the  Journal  Anti-Juif  of  Al- 
giers. He  put  it  down  politely  as  I  came  in. 
'  You're  alone,  monsieur,"  I  said. 
'  Yes,  m'sieu.  The  driver  has  gone  to  see 
to  the  horses." 

I  offered  him  one  of  my  Havanas,  which  he 
accepted  with  alacrity,  and  drew  up  with  him 
before  the  fire. 

"  You  have  been  living  here  long,  mon- 
sieur?" 

"  Twenty  years,  m'sieu." 
'  Twenty  years  alone  in  this  desert  place!  " 

"  Nineteen  years  alone,  m'sieu.  Before  that 
I  had  my  little  Marie." 

"Marie?" 

"My  child,  m'sieu.  She  is  buried  in  the 
sand  behind  the  inn." 

I  looked  at  him  in  silence.  His  brown, 
wrinkled  face  was  calm,  but  in  his  prominent 
eyes  there  was  still  the  hot  shining  look  I  had 
observed  in  them  when  I  arrived. 

257 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

"  The  palms  begin  there,"  he  added.  "  Year 
by  year  I  have  saved  what  I  could,  and  now  I 
have  bought  all  the  palm-trees  near  where  she 
lies." 

He  puffed  away  at  his  Havana. 
'  You  come  from  France?"  I  asked  pres- 
ently. 

"  From  the  Midi — I  was  born  at  Cassis, 
near  Marseille." 

"  Don't  you  ever  intend  to  go  back  there?  " 
"  Never,  m'sieu.  Would  you  have  me  desert 
my  child?" 

'  But,"  I  said  gently,  "  she  is  dead." 
'  Yes ;  but  I  have  promised  her  that  her  bon 
papa  will  lie  with  her  presently  for  company. 
Leave  her  alone  with  the  Arabs! " 

A  sudden  look  of  horror  came  into  his  face. 
'  You  don't  like  the  Arabs?  " 
"Like  the  dirty  dogs!     You  haven't  been 
told  about  me,  m'sieu?  " 

"  Only  that  your  name  was  '  Fin  Tireur.' ' 
1  Fin  Tireur.'    Yes;  that's  what  they  call 
me  in  the  desert." 

'  You're  a  sportsman?    A  '  capital  shot '?  " 
He  laughed  suddenly,  and  his  laugh  made 
me  feel  cold. 

"  Oh!  they  don't  call  me  '  Fin  Tireur '  be- 
cause I  can  hit  gazelle,  and  bring  them  home 
for  supper.    No,  no!    Shall  I  tell  you  why?  " 
He  looked  at  me  half  defiantly,  half  wist- 
fully, I  thought. 

"  But  if  I  do,  perhaps  your  stomach  will 
258 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

turn  against  the  food  I  cooked  with  these 
hands,"  he  added  suddenly,  stretching  out 
his  hands  towards  me.  "You  are  English, 
m'sieu?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  daresay  you  won't  understand." 

"  I  think  I  shall,"  I  answered,  looking  full 
at  him. 

The  way  he  had  spoken  of  his  child  had 
drawn  me  to  him.  Whatever  he  had  done,  I 
felt  that  chivalry  and  tenderness  were  in  this 
man. 

'  Why  do  they  call  you  '  Fin  Tireur  '?  " 

:<  The  men  of  the  Midi,  m'sieu,  are  not  like 
the  men  of  the  rest  of  France,"  said  Fin  Tir- 
eur— "at  least  so  they  say.  We  are  boasters, 
perhaps;  but  we've  got  more  love  of  adven- 
ture, more  wish  to  see  the  world,  and  do  some- 
thing big  in  it.  They're  talkers,  you  know,  in 
the  Midi,  and  they  tell  of  what  they've  done. 
I  heard  them  at  Cassis  when  I  was  a  boy,  and 
one  day  I  saw  a  Zouave  in  front  of  the  inn 
balcony,  where  folks  come  on  fete  days  to  eat 
the  bouillabaisse.  The  talk  I  had  heard  made 
me  wish  to  rove;  but  when  I  saw  the  Zouave, 
in  his  big  red  trousers  and  blue  and  red  jacket, 
I  said  to  myself :  '  As  soon  as  my  three  years' 
service  is  over  I'll  go  to  Africa,  and  make  my 
fortune.'  I  did  my  three  years  at  Grenoble, 
m'sieu,  and  when  it  was  done  I  carried  out  my 
resolve.  I  came  to  Africa;  but  I  didn't  come 
alone." 

259 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

He  puffed  at  his  cigar  for  a  minute  or  two, 
and  the  hot  look  in  his  eyes  became  more 
definite,  like  a  fanned  flame. 

"  You  took  a  comrade?  " 

"  I  took  a  wife,  a  girl  of  Cassis.  A  good 
girl  she  was  then." 

He  paused  again,  then  continued,  in  rather 
a  loud  voice:  "  She  was  good,  m'sieu,  because 
she  had  seen  nothing.  That's  often  the  way. 
It  was  I  who  put  it  into  her  head  that  there 
were  things  to  be  seen  better  than  rocks,  and 
dead  white  dusty  roads,  and  fishing  boats 
against  the  quay.  I've  thought  of  that  since  I 
— since  I  got  my  name  of  Fin  Tireur.  Her 
name  was  Marie,  and  she  was  eighteen  when 
we  stood  before  the  priest.  Next  day  we  went 
to  Marseille,  and  took  the  boat  for  Algiers. 
Our  heads  were  full  of  I  don't  know  what. 
We  thought  we  were  clever  ones,  and  should 
do  well  in  a  country  like  Africa.  And  so  we 
did  at  first.  We  got  into  a  hotel  at  Algiers. 
She  was  housemaid,  and  I  was  porter  in  the 
hall,  and  what  with  the  goings  and  comings — 
strangers  giving  us  a  little  when  we'd  done  our 
best  for  them — we  made  some  money,  and  we 
saved  it.  And  I  wish  to  God  we'd  spent  it, 
every  sou! " 

His  voice  became  fierce  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  continued,  with  an  obvious  effort  to  be 
calm:  "You  see,  m'sieu,  at  Algiers  we  had 
nothing  to  say  to  the  Arabs.  With  the  money 
we'd  saved  we  left  Algiers,  and  came  into  the 

260 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

desert  to  take  a  cafe  which  was  to  let  near  the 
station  at  Beni-Mora." 

"  I've  just  come  from  there." 

"  They  call  it  '  Au  Retour  du  Sahara.'  " 

"  I've  had  coffee  there." 

"  That  was  ours,  and  there  little  Marie 
was  born.  In  those  days  there  weren't  many 
strangers  in  Beni-Mora.  The  railway  had  only 
just  come  there,  and  it  was  wild  enough.  Very 
few,  except  the  Arabs.  Well,  they  were  often 
our  customers.  We  learned  to  talk  a  bit  of 
their  language,  and  they  a  bit  of  ours;  and, 
having  no  friends  out  there,  I  might  say  we 
made  sort  of  friends  with  some  of  them.  The 
dirty  dogs !  The  camels !  " 

He  struck  his  clenched  hand  down  on  the 
table.  As  he  talked  he  had  lost  his  former  con- 
sciousness of  my  close  observation. 

"  But  they  know  how  to   please  women, 


m'sieu." 


'  They  are  often  very  handsome,"  I  said. 

"  It  isn't  only  that.  They  can  stare  a  woman 
down  as  a  wild  beast  can,  and  that's  what 
women  like.  I  never  so  much  as  looked  on 
them  as  men — not  in  that  way,  for  a  Cassis 
woman,  m'sieu.  But  Marie 

He  choked,  ground  his  teeth  on  his  cigar 
stump,  let  it  drop,  and  stamped  out  the  glow- 
ing end  on  the  brick  floor  with  his  heel. 

"  She  served  them,  m'sieu,"  he  resumed,  af- 
ter clearing  his  throat.  "  But  I  was  mostly 
there,  and  I  don't  see  how — but  women  can  al- 


"FIN   IIREUR" 

ways  find  the  way.  Well,  one  day  she  went 
to  what  they  call  a  sand-diviner.  She  didn't 
pretend  anything.  She  told  me  she  wanted 
to  go,  and  I  was  ready.  I  was  always  ready 
that  she  should  have  any  little  pleasure.  I 
couldn't  leave  the  cafe,  so  she  went  off  alone 
to  a  room  he  had  by  the  Garden  of  the  Ga- 
zelles, at  the  end  of  the  dancing-street." 

"  I  know — over  the  place  where  they  smoke 
the  kief." 

"  She  didn't  answer,  but  went  and  sat  down 
under  the  arbour,  opposite  to  where  they  wash 
the  clothes.  I  followed  her,  for  she  looked 
ill. 

"  '  Did  he  read  in  the  sand  for  you? '  I  said. 

"'  Yes,'  she  said;4  he  did.' 
6  What  things  did  he  read? ' 

"  She  turned,  and  looked  right  at  me.  *  That 
my  fate  lies  in  the  sand,'  she  said — '  and  yours, 
and  hers.' 

"  And  she  pointed  at  little  Marie,  who  was 
playing  with  a  yellow  kid  we  had  then  just  by 
the  door. 

"  '  What's  that  to  be  afraid  of  ? '  I  asked 
her.  '  Haven't  we  come  to  the  desert  to  make 
our  fortune,  and  isn't  there  sand  in  the  des- 
ert?' 

"  '  Not  much  by  here,'  she  said. 

"  And  that's  true,  m'sieu.  It's  hard  ground, 
you  know,  at  Beni-Mora." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  offering  him  another  cigar. 

He  refused  it  with  a  quick  gesture. 
262 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

"  She  never  would  say  another  word  as  to 
what  the  sand-diviner  had  told  her ;  but  she  was 
never  the  same  from  that  day.  She  was  as  un- 
easy as  a  lost  bitch,  m'sieu ;  and  she  made  me 
uneasy  too.  Sometimes  she  wouldn't  speak  to 
our  little  one  when  the  child  ran  to  her,  and 
sometimes  she'd  catch  her  up,  and  kiss  her  till 
the  little  one's  cheek  was  as  red  as  if  you'd 
been  striking  it.  And  then  one  day,  after 
dark,  she  went." 

4  Went!" 

"  I'd  been  ill  with  fever,  and  gone  to  spend 
the  night  at  the  sulphur  baths;  you  know, 
m'sieu,  Hammam-Salahkin,  under  the  moun- 
tains. I  came  back  just  at  dawn  to  open  the 
cafe.  When  I  got  off  my  mule  at  the  door  I 
heard  " — his  face  twitched  convulsively — "  the 
most  horrible  crying  of  a  child.  It  was  so 
horrible  that  I  just  stood  there,  holding  on  to 
the  bridle  of  the  mule,  and  listening,  and  didn't 
dare  go  in.  I'd  heard  children  cry  often 
enough  before;  but — mon  Dieu! — never  like 
that.  At  last  I  dropped  the  bridle,  and  went 
in,  with  my  legs  shaking  under  me.  I  found 
the  little  one  alone  in  the  house,  and  like  a 
mad  thing.  She'd  been  alone  all  night." 

His  face  set  rigidly. 

"  And  her  mother  knew  I  should  be  all  night 
at  the  Hammam,"  he  said.  "  Fin  Tireur — 
yes,  it  was  coming  backhand  finding  my  little 
one  left  like  that  in  such  a  place,  made  me  earn 
the  name." 

263 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

He  fell  suddenly  into  a  moody  silence.  I 
broke  it  by  saying:  "It  was  the  sand- 
diviner?  " 

He  looked  at  me  sharply.    "  I  don't  know." 

"  You  never  found  out?  " 

"  At  Beni-Mora  the  women  go  veiled,"  he 
said  harshly. 

Suddenly  I  realised  the  horror  of  the  situa- 
tion: the  deserted  husband  living  on  with  his 
child  in  the  midst  of  the  ordained  and  close 
secrecy  of  Beni-Mora,  where  many  of  the 
women  never  set  foot  out  of  doors,  and  those 
who  do,  unless  they  are  the  public  dancers,  are 
so  heavily  veiled  that  their  features  cannot  be 
recognised. 

'  What  did  you  do?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  searched,  as  far  as  one  can  search  in  an 
Arab  town,  and  found  out  nothing.  I  wanted 
to  tear  the  veil  from  every  woman  in  the  place; 
and  then  I  was  sent  away  from  Beni-Mora." 

"By  whom?" 

"  The  French  authorities,  my  own  country- 
men,"   he   laughed   bitterly.      "  To   save   me 
from  getting  myself  murdered,  m'sieu." 
'  You  would  have  been." 

"  Why  not?  Then  I  came  here  to  keep  the 
inn  for  the  diligence  that  carries  the  mails  to 
the  south,  for  I  wouldn't  leave  the  country 
till 

He  paused. 

"  And  the  sand-diviner?  " 

"  I  left  him  at  Beni-Mora.    He  smiled,  and 
264 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

said  he  knew  no  more  than  I ;  and  perhaps  he 
didn't.    How  was  I  to  tell?  " 

"  But  your  name  of  Fin  Tireur?  " 
"  Ah!  "  —the  thing  in  his  eyes  glowed  like  a 
thing  red-hot—  "I'd  been  here  eleven  months 
when,  one  afternoon  of  summer,  just  near  sun- 
set, I  heard  a  noise  of  drums  beating  and  Afri- 
can pipes  screaming,  and  the  snarl  of  camels 
on  the  road  you  came  to-night.  I  was  in  the 
house,  in  this  room  where  we  are  sitting  now, 
and  little  Marie  was  playing  just  outside  by 
the  well,  so  that  I  could  see  her  through  the 
window.  By  the  sounds,  I  knew  a  great  cara- 
van was  coming  up,  and  passing  towards  the 
south.  They  always  water  at  the  well,  and  I 
stood  by  the  window  to  see  them.  Little  Marie 
stood  too,  shading  her  eyes  with  her  bit  of  a 
hand.  The  drums  and  pipes  got  louder,  and 
round  the  corner  of  the  inn  came  as  big  a  cara- 
van as  I've  ever  seen;  near  a  hundred  camels, 
horsemen,  and  led  mules  and  donkeys,  Kabyle 
dogs  and  goats,  the  music  playing  all  the  time, 
and  a  Caid's  flag  flying  in  the  front.  They 
made  for  the  well,  as  I  knew  they  would,  and 
little  Marie  stood  all  the  while  watching  them. 
M'sieu,  there  were  square  packs  on  some  of  the 
camels,  and  veiled  women  on  the  packs." 
He  looked  across  at  me  hard. 
'  Veiled  women?  "  I  repeated. 
'  When  they  got  to  the  well  they  made  the 
camels  kneel  for  the  women  to  get  down;  and 
one  of  the  women,  when  she  was  down,  caught 

265 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

sight  of  Marie  standing  there,  with  her  little 
hand  shading  her  eyes.  That  woman  gave  a 
great  cry  behind  her  veil.  I  heard  it,  m'sieu, 
as  I  stood  by  the  window  there,  and  I  saw  the 
woman  run  at  the  little  one." 

He  got  up  from  his  seat  slowly,  and  stood 
by  the  wooden  shutter,  against  which  the  sand 
was  driven  by  the  wind. 

"  In  a  place  like  this,  m'sieu,  one  keeps  a 
revolver  here." 

He  put  his  hand  to  a  pocket  at  the  back  of 
his  breeches,  brought  out  a  revolver,  and 
pointed  it  at  the  shutter. 

"  When  I  heard  the  woman  cry  I  took  my 
revolver  out.  When  I  saw  the  woman  run  I 
fired,  and  the  bullet  struck  the  veil." 

He  put  the  revolver  back  into  his  pocket, 
and  sat  down  again  quietly. 

"  And  that's  why  they  call  me  Fin  Tireur." 

I  said  nothing,  and  sat  staring  at  him. 

"  When  the  camels  had  been  watered  the 
caravan  went  on." 

"  But— but  the  Arabs " 

"  The  Caid  had  the  body  tied  across  a  don- 
key— they  told  me." 

'You  didn't  see?" 

"  No.  I  took  the  little  one  in.  She  was 
screaming,  and  I  had  to  see  to  her.  It  was  two 
days  afterwards,  when  I  was  at  the  market, 
that  a  scorpion  stung  her.  She  was  dead  when 
I  came  back.  Well,  m'sieu,  are  you  sorry  you 
ate  your  supper?  " 

266 


"FIN    TIREUR" 

Before  I  could  reply,  the  door  opening  into 
the  courtyard  gaped,  and  the  driver  entered, 
followed  by  a  cloud  of  whirling  sand  grains. 

ff  Nom  dfun  chien! "  he  exclaimed.  "  Get 
me  a  tumbler  of  wine,  for  the  love  of  God,  Fin 
Tireur.  My  throat's  full  of  the  sand.  Sacre 
nom  d'un  nom  dfun  nom! " 

He  pulled  off  his  coat,  turned  it  upside 
down,  and  shook  the  sand  out  of  the  pockets, 
while  Fin  Tireur  went  over  to  the  corner  of 
the  kitchen  where  the  bottles  stood  in  a  row 
against  the  earthen  wall. 


267 


HALIMA     AND     THE 
SCORPIONS 

IN  travelling  about  the  world  one  collects  a 
number  of  those  trifles  of  all  sorts,  usually 
named  "  curiosities,"  many  of  them  worthless 
if  it  were  not  for  the  memories  they  recall. 
The  other  day  I  was  clearing  out  a  bureau  be- 
fore going  abroad,  and  in  one  of  the  drawers 
I  came  across  a  hedgehog's  foot,  set  in  silver, 
and  hung  upon  a  tarnished  silver  chain.  I 
picked  it  up  in  the  Sahara,  and  here  is  its  his- 
tory. 

•          •          •          •          •  • 

Mohammed  El  Aid  Ben  Ali  Tidjani,  mara- 
bout of  Tamacine,  is  a  great  man  in  the  Sa- 
hara Desert.  His  reputation  for  piety  reaches 
as  far  as  Tunis  and  Algiers,  to  the  north  of 
Africa,  and  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the 
Southern  Desert,  even  to  the  land  of  the  Tou- 
aregs.  He  dwells  in  a  sacred  village  of  dried 
mud  and  brick,  surrounded  by  a  high  wall, 
pierced  with  loopholes,  and  ornamented  with 
gates  made  of  palm  wood,  and  covered  with 
sheets  of  iron.  In  his  mansion,  above  the  en- 
trance of  which  is  written  "  L'Entree  de  Sidi 
Laid,"  are  clocks  innumerable,  musical  boxes, 
tables,  chairs,  sofas,  and  even  framed  photo- 
graphs. Negro  servants  bow  before  him, 

269 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

wives,  brothers,  children,  and  obsequious  hang- 
ers-on of  various  nationalities,  black,  bronze, 
and  cafe  au  lait  in  colour,  offer  him  perpetual 
incense.  Rich  worshippers  of  the  Prophet  and 
the  Prophet's  priests  send  him  presents  from 
afar;  camels  laden  with  barley,  donkeys  stag- 
gering beneath  sacks  of  grain,  ostrich  plumes, 
silver  ornaments,  perfumes,  red-eyed  doves, 
gazelles  whose  tiny  hoofs  are  decorated  with 
gold-leaf  or  painted  in  bright  colours.  The 
tributes  laid  before  the  tomb  of  Cheikh  Sidi 
El  Hadj  Ali  ben  Sidi  El  Hadj  Ai'ssa  are, 
doubtless,  his  perquisites  as  guardian  of  the 
saint.  He  dresses  in  silks  of  the  tints  of  the  au- 
tumn leaf,  and  carries  in  his  mighty  hand  a 
staff  hung  with  apple-green  ribbons.  And  his 
smile  is  as  the  smile  of  the  rising  sun  in  an 
oleograph. 

This  personage  one  day  blessed  the  hedge- 
hog's foot  I  at  present  possess,  and  endowed 
it  solemnly  with  miraculous  curative  proper- 
ties. It  would  cure,  he  declared,  all  the  physi- 
cal ills  that  can  beset  a  woman.  Then  he  gave 
it  into  the  hands  of  a  great  Agha,  who  was 
about  to  take  a  wife,  accepted  a  tribute  of 
dates,  a  grandfather's  clock  from  Paris,  and  a 
grinding  organ  of  Barbary  as  a  small  acknow- 
ledgment of  his  generosity,  and  probably 
thought  very  little  more  about  the  matter. 

Now,  in  the  course  of  time,  it  happened  that 
the  hedgehog's  foot  came  into  the  possession 
of  a  dancing-girl  of  Touggourt,  called  Hali- 

270 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

ma.  How  Halima  got  hold  of  it  I  cannot  say, 
nor  does  anyone  in  Touggourt  exactly  know, 
so  far  as  I  am  aware.  But,  alas!  even  Aghas 
are  sometimes  human,  and  play  pitch  and  toss 
with  magical  things.  As  Grand  Dukes  who 
go  to  disport  themselves  in  Paris  sometimes 
hie  them  incognito  to  the  "  Cafe  de  la  Sor- 
ciere,"  so  do  Aghas  flit  occasionally  to  Toug- 
gourt, and  appear  upon  the  high  benches  of 
the  great  dancing-house  of  the  Ouled  Nails 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  And  Halima  was 
young  and  beautiful.  Her  eyes  were  large, 
and  she  wore  a  golden  crown  ornamented  with 
very  tall  feathers.  And  she  danced  the  dance 
of  the  hands  and  the  dance  of  the  fainting  fit 
with  great  perfection.  And  the  wives  of 
Aghas  have  to  put  up  with  a  good  deal. 
However  it  was,  one  evening  Halima  danced 
with  the  hedgehog's  foot  that  had  been  blessed 
dangling  from  her  jewelled  girdle.  And  there 
was  a  great  scandal  in  the  city. 

For  in  the  four  quarters  of  Touggourt,  the 
quarter  of  the  Jews,  of  the  foreigners,  of  the 
freed  negroes,  and  of  the  citizens  proper,  it 
was  known  that  the  hedgehog's  foot  had  been 
blessed  and  endowed  with  magical  powers  by 
the  mighty  marabout  of  Tamacine. 

Halima  herself  affirmed  it,  standing  at  the 
front  door  of  her  terraced  dwelling  in  the 
court,  while  the  other  dancers  gathered  round, 
looking  like  a  troop  of  macaws  in  their 
feathers  and  their  finery.  With  a  brazen  pride 

271 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

she  boasted  that  she  possessed  something  worth 
more  than  uncut  rubies,  carpets  from  Bag- 
dad, and  silken  petticoats  sewn  with  sequins. 
And  the  Ouled  Nails  could  not  gainsay  her. 
Indeed,  they  turned  their  huge,  kohl-tinted 
eyes  upon  the  relic  with  envy,  and  stretched 
their  painted  hands  towards  it  as  if  to  a  god 
in  prayer.  But  Halima  would  let  no  one 
touch  it,  and  presently,  taking  from  her  bosom 
her  immense  door  key,  she  retired  to  enshrine 
the  foot  in  her  box,  studded  with  huge  brass 
nails,  such  as  stands  by  each  dancer's  bed. 

And  the  scandal  was  very  great  in  the  city 
that  such  a  precious  thing  should  be  between 
the  hands  of  an  Ouled  Nail,  a  girl  of  no  re- 
pute, come  thither  in  a  palanquin  on  camel- 
back  to  earn  her  dowry,  and  who  would  depart 
into  the  sands  of  the  south,  laden  with  the  gold 
wrung  from  the  pockets  of  loose  livers. 

Only  Ben-Abid  smiled  gently  when  he 
heard  of  the  matter. 

Ben-Abid  belonged  to  the  Tribu  des  blancs, 
and  was  the  singer  attached  to  the  cafe  of  the 
smokers  of  the  hashish.  He  it  was  who  struck 
each  evening  a  guitar  made  of  goatskin 
backed  by  sand  tortoise,  and  lifted  up  his  voice 
in  the  song  "  Lalia  ": 


Ladham  Pacha  who  has  left  the  heart  of  his  enemies 
trembling — 

O  Lalia !  O  Lalia ! 
The  love  of  women  is  no  more  sweet  to  me  after  thy  love. 

272 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

Thy  hand  is  white,  and  thy  bracelets  are  of  the  purest 

silver — 
And  I,   Ladham  Pacha,   love  thee,   without  thought  of 

what  will  come. 

O  Lalia!  O  Lalia!" 


The  assembled  smokers  breathed  out  under 
the  black  ceiling  their  deep  refrain  of  "  Wur- 
ra-Wurra!  "  and  Larbi,  in  his  Zouave  jacket 
and  his  tight,  pleated  skirt,  threw  back  his 
small  head,  exposing  his  long  brown  throat, 
and  danced  like  a  tired  phantom  in  a  dream. 

Ben-Abid  smiled,  showing  two  rows  of  lus- 
trous teeth. 

"  Should  Halima  fall  ill,  the  foot  will  not 
avail  to  cure  her,"  he  murmured.  "Ben  Ali 
Tidjani's  blessing  could  never  rest  on  an  Ouled 
Nail,  who,  like  a  little  viper  of  the  sand,  has 
stolen  into  the  Agha's  bosom,  and  filled  his 
veins  with  subtle  poison.  She  deems  she  has 
a  treasure;  but  let  her  beware:  that  which 
would  protect  a  woman  who  wears  the  veil  will 
do  naught  for  a  creature  who  shows  her 
face  to  the  stranger,  and  dances  by  night  for 
the  Zouaves  and  for  the  Spahis  who  patrol 
the  dunes." 

And  he  struck  his  long  fingers  upon  the 
goatskin  of  his  instrument,  while  Koui'dah, 
the  boy  who  played  upon  the  little  glasses  and 
shook  the  tambourine  of  reeds,  slipped  foith 
to  tell  in  the  city  what  Ben-Abid  had  spoken. 

Halima  was  enraged  when  she  heard  of  it, 
273 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

more  especially  as  there  were  found  many  to 
believe  Ben-Abid's  words.  She  stood  before 
her  room  upon  the  terrace,  where  Zouaves 
were  playing  cards  with  the  dancers  in  the  sun, 
and  she  cursed  him  in  a  shrill  voice,  calling  him 
son  of  a  scorpion,  and  requesting  that  Allah 
would  send  great  troubles  upon  his  relations, 
even  upon  his  aged  grandmother.  That  the 
miraculous  reputation  of  her  treasure  should 
be  thus  scouted,  and  herself  insulted,  vexed  her 
to  the  soul. 

"Let  the  son  of  a  camel  with  a  swollen 
tongue  dare  to  come  to  me  and  repeat  what  he 
has  said! "  she  cried.  "  Let  him  come  out 
from  his  lair  in  the  cafe  of  the  hashish  smokers, 
and,  as  Allah  is  great,  I  will  spit  in  his  face. 
The  reviler  of  women !  The  son  of  a  scorpion ! 
Cursed  be  his- 

And  then  once  more  she  desired  evil  to  the 
grandmother  of  Ben-Abid,  and  to  all  his  fam- 
ily. And  the  Zouaves  and  the  dancers  laughed 
over  their  card  games.  Indeed,  the  other 
dancers  were  merry,  and  not  ill-pleased  with 
Ben-Abid's  words.  For  even  in  the  Sahara 
the  women  do  not  care  that  one  of  them  should 
be  exalted  above  the  rest. 

Now,  in  Touggourt  gossip  is  carried  from 
house  to  house,  as  the  sand  grains  are  carried 
on  the  wind.  Within  an  hour  Ben-Abid  heard 
that  his  grandmother  had  been  cursed,  and  him- 
self called  son  of  a  scorpion,  by  Halima. 
Kouidah,  the  boy,  ran  on  naked  feet  to  tell 

274: 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

him  in  the  cafe  of  the  hashish  smokers.  When 
he  heard  he  smiled. 

"  To-night  I  will  go  to  the  dancing-house, 
and  speak  with  Halima,"  he  murmured.  And 
then  he  plucked  the  guitar  of  goatskin  that 
was  ever  in  his  hands,  and  sang  softly  of  the 
joys  of  Ladham  Pacha,  half  closing  his  eyes, 
and  swaying  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

And  Kouidah,  the  boy,  ran  hack  across  the 
camel  market  to  tell  in  the  court  of  the  dancers 
the  words  of  Ben-Abid. 

That  night,  when  the  nomads  lit  their  brush- 
wood fires  in  the  market;  when  the  Kabyle 
bakers,  in  their  striped  turbans  and  their  close- 
fitting  jerseys  of  yellow  and  of  red,  ran  to 
and  fro  bearing  the  trays  of  flat,  new-made 
loaves;  when  the  dwarfs  beat  on  the  ground 
with  their  staffs  to  summon  the  mob  to  watch 
their  antics;  and  the  story-tellers  put  on  their 
glasses,  and  sat  them  down  at  their  boards  be- 
tween the  candles;  Ben-Abid  went  forth 
secretly  from  the  hashish  cafe  wrapped  in  his 
burnous.  He  sought  out  in  the  quarter  of  the 
freed  negroes  a  certain  man  called  Sadok,  who 
dwelt  alone. 

This  Sadok  was  lean  as  a  spectre,  and  had 
a  skin  like  parchment.  He  was  a  renowned 
plunger  in  desert  wells,  and  could  remain  be- 
neath the  water,  men  said,  for  a  space  of  four 
minutes.  But  he  could  also  do  another  thing. 
He  could  eat  scorpions.  And  this  he  would  do 
for  a  small  sum  of  money.  Only,  during  the 

275 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

fast  of  Ramadan,  between  the  rising  and  the 
going  down  of  the  sun,  so  long  as  a  white 
thread  could  be  distinguished  from  a  black,  he 
would  not  eat  even  a  scorpion,  because  the 
tasting  of  food  by  day  in  that  time  is  forbid- 
den by  the  Prophet. 

When  Ben-Abid  struck  on  his  door  Sadok 
came  forth,  gibbering  in  his  tangled  beard, 
and  half  naked. 

"  Oh,  brother!  "  said  Ben-Abid.  "  Here  is 
money  if  thou  canst  find  me  three  scorpions. 
One  of  them  must  be  a  black  scorpion." 

Sadok  shot  out  his  filthy  claw,  and  there 
was  fire  in  his  eyes.  But  Ben-Abid's  fingers 
closed  round  the  money  paper. 

"  First  thou  must  find  the  scorpions,  and 
then  thou  must  carry  them  with  thee  to  the 
court  of  the  dancers,  walking  at  my  side.  For, 
as  Allah  lives,  I  will  not  touch  them.  After- 
wards thou  shalt  have  the  money." 

Sadok's  soul  drew  the  shutters  across  his 
eyes.  Then  he  led  the  way  by  tortuous  alleys 
to  an  old  and  ruined  wall  of  a  zgag,  in  which 
there  were  as  many  holes  as  there  are  in  a 
honeycomb.  Here,  as  he  knew,  the  scorpions 
loved  to  sleep.  Thrusting  his  fingers  here  and 
there  he  presently  drew  forth  three  writhing 
reptiles.  And  one  of  them  was  black.  He 
held  them  out,  with  a  cry,  to  Ben-Abid. 

"The  money!     The  money!"  he  shrieked. 

But  Ben-Abid  shrank  back,  shuddering. 

"  Thou  must  bring  them  to  the  dancers' 
276 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

court.  Hide  them  well  in  thy  garments  that 
none  may  see  them.  Then  thou  shalt  have  the 
money." 

Sadok  hid  the  scorpions  upon  his  shaven 
head  beneath  his  turban,  and  they  went  by  the 
dunes  and  the  lonely  ways  to  the  cafe  of  the 
dancers. 

Already  the  pipers  were  playing,  and  many 
were  assembled  to  see  the  women  dance;  but 
Ben-Abid  and  Sadok  pushed  through  the 
throng,  and  passed  across  the  cafe  to  the  inner 
court,  which  is  open  to  the  air,  and  surrounded 
with  earthen  terraces  on  which,  in  tiers,  open 
the  rooms  of  the  dancers,  each  with  its  own 
front  door.  This  court  is  as  a  mighty  rabbit 
warren,  peopled  with  women  instead  of  rab- 
bits. Pale  lights  gleamed  in  many  doorways, 
for  the  dancers  were  dressing  and  painting 
themselves  for  the  dances  of  the  body,  of  the 
hands,  of  the  poignard,  and  of  the  handker- 
chief. Their  shrill  voices  cried  one  to  another, 
their  heavy  bracelets  and  necklets  jingled,  and 
the  monstrous  shadows  of  their  crowned  and 
feathered  heads  leaped  and  wavered  on  the 
yellow  patches  of  light  that  lay  before  their 
doors. 

"  Where  is  Halima? "  cried  Ben-Abid  in  a 
loud  voice.  "  Let  Halima  come  forth  and 
spit  in  my  face !  " 

At  the  sound  of  his  call  many  women  ran  to 
their  doors,  some  half  dressed,  some  fully  at- 
tired, like  Jezebels  of  the  great  desert, 

277 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

"  It  is  Ben-Abid!  "  went  up  the  cry  of  many 
voices.  "  It  is  Ben-Abid,  who  laughs  to  scorn 
the  power  of  the  hedgehog's  foot.  It  is  the 
son  of  the  camel  with  the  swollen  tongue. 
Halima,  Halima,  the  child  of  the  scorpion 
calls  thee!" 

Koui'dah,  the  boy,  who  was  ever  about,  ran 
barefoot  from  the  court  into  the  cafe  to  tell 
of  the  doings  of  Ben-Abid,  and  in  a  moment 
the  people  crowded  in,  Zouaves  and  Spahis, 
Arabs  and  negroes,  nomads  from  the  south, 
gipsies,  jugglers,  and  Jews.  There  were,  too, 
some  from  Tamacine,  and  these  were  of  all  the 
most  intent. 

"  Where  is  Halima? "  went  up  the  cry. 
£  Where  is  Halima?  " 

"  Who  calls  me? "  exclaimed  the  voice  of  a 
girl. 

And  Halima  came  out  of  her  door  on  the 
first  terrace  at  the  left,  splendidly  dressed  for 
the  dance  in  scarlet  and  gold,  carrying  two 
scarlet  handkerchiefs  in  her  hands,  and  with 
the  hedgehog's  foot  dangling  from  her  girdle 
of  thin  gold,  studded  with  turquoises. 

Ben-Abid  stood  below  in  the  court  with 
Sadok  by  his  side.  The  crowd  pressed  about 
him  from  behind. 

"  Thou  hast  called  me  the  son  of  a  scorpion, 
Halima,"  he  said,  in  a  loud  voice.  "  Is  it  not 
true?" 

"  It  is  true,"  she  answered,  with  a  venomous 
smile  of  hatred.  "  And  thou  hast  said  that 

278 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

the  hedgehog's  foot,  blessed  by  the  great  mara- 
bout of  Tamacine,  would  avail  naught  against 
the  deadly  sickness  of  a  dancing-girl.  Is  it 
not  true?'' 

'It  is  true,"  answered  Ben-Abid. 

"  Thou  art  a  liar!  "  cried  Halima. 

"  And  so  art  thou!  "  said  Ben-Abid  slowly. 

A  deep  murmur  rose  from  the  crowd,  which 
pressed  more  closely  beneath  the  terrace,  star- 
ing up  at  the  scarlet  figure  upon  it. 

"  If  I  am  a  liar  thou  canst  not  prove  it! " 
cried  Halima  furiously.  "  I  spit  upon  thee! 
I  spit  upon  thee!" 

And  she  bent  down  her  feathered  head  from 
the  terrace  and  spat  passionately  in  his  face. 

Ben-Abid  only  laughed  aloud. 

"  I  can  prove  that  I  have  spoken  the  truth," 
he  said.  "  But  if  I  am  indeed  the  son  of  a 
scorpion,  as  thou  sayest,  let  my  brothers  speak 
for  me.  Let  my  brothers  declare  to  all  the 
Sahara  that  the  truth  is  in  my  mouth.  Sadok, 
remove  thy  turban! " 

The  plunger  of  the  wells,  with  a  frantic 
gesture,  lifted  his  turban  and  discovered  the 
three  scorpions  writhing  upon  his  shaven  head. 
Another,  and  longer,  murmur  went  up  from 
the  crowd.  But  some  shrank  back  and 
trembled,  for  the  desert  Arabs  are  much  afraid 
of  scorpions,  which  cause  many  deaths  in  the 
Sahara. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  cried  Halima.  "  How  can 
the  scorpions  speak  for  thee?  " 

279 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

"They  shall  speak  well,"  said  Ben-Abid. 
"  Their  voices  cannot  lie.  Sleep  to-night  in 
thy  room  with  these  my  brothers.  Irena  and 
Boria,  the  Golden  Date  and  the  Lotus  Flower, 
shall  watch  beside  thee.  Guard  in  thy  hand, 
or  in  thy  breast,  the  hedgehog's  foot  that  thou 
sayest  can  preserve  from  every  ill.  If,  in  the 
evening  of  to-morrow,  thou  dancest  before  the 
soldiers,  I  will  give  thee  fifty  golden  coins. 
But,  if  thou  dancest  not,  the  city  shall  know 
whether  Ben-Abid  is  a  truth-teller,  and 
whether  the  blessings  of  the  great  marabout 
can  rest  upon  such  a  woman  as  thou  art.  If 
thou  refusest  thou  art  afraid,  and  thy  fear 
proveth  that  thou  hast  no  faith  in  the  magic 
treasure  that  dangles  at  thy  girdle." 

There  was  a  moment  of  deep  silence.  Then, 
from  the  crowd  burst  forth  the  cry  of  many 
voices  :<% 

"Put  it  to  the  proof!  Ben-Abid  speaks 
well.  Put  it  to  the  proof,  and  may  Allah 
judge  between  them." 

Beneath  the  caked  pigments  on  her  face 
Halima  had  gone  pale. 

"  I  will  not,"  she  began. 

But  the  cries  rose  up  again,  and  with  them 
the  shrill,  twittering  laughter  of  her  envious 
rivals. 

"She  has  no  faith  in  the  marabout!" 
squawked  one,  who  had  a  nose  like  an  eagle's 
beak. 

"  She  is  a  liar!  "  piped  another,  shaking  out 
280 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

her  silken  petticoats  as  a  bird  shakes  out  its 
plumes. 

And  then  the  twitter  of  fierce  laughter  rose, 
shriek  on  shriek,  and  was  echoed  more  deeply 
by  the  crowd  of  watching  men. 

"Give  me  the  scorpions!"  cried  Halima 
passionately.  "  I  am  not  afraid!  " 

Her  desert  blood  was  up.  Her  fatalism — 
even  in  the  women  of  the  Sahara  it  lurks — was 
awake.  In  that  moment  she  was  ready  to  die, 
to  silence  the  bitter  laughter  of  her  rivals. 
It  sank  away  as  Sadok  grasped  the  scorpions 
in  his  filthy  claw,  and  leaped,  gibbering  in  his 
beard,  upon  the  terrace. 

"Wait!"  cried  Halima,  as  he  came  upon 
her,  holding  forth  his  handful  of  writhing  poi- 
son. 

Her  bosom  heaved.  Her  lustrous  eyes, 
heavy  with  kohl,  shone  like  those  of  a  beast  at 
bay. 

Sadok  stood  still,  with  his  naked  arm  out- 
stretched. 

"  How  shall  I  know  that  the  son  of  a  scor- 
pion will  pay  me  the  fifty  golden  coins?  He 
is  poor,  though  he  speaks  bravely.  He  is  but 
a  singer  in  the  cafe  of  the  smokers  of  the 
hashish,  and  cannot  buy  even  a  new  garment 
for  the  close  of  the  feast  of  Ramadan.  How, 
then,  shall  I  know  that  the  gold  will  hang  from 
my  breasts  when  to-morrow,  at  the  falling  of 
the  sun,  I  dance  before  the  men  of  Toug- 

gourt? " 

281 


IIALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

Ben-Abid  put  his  hand  beneath  his  burnous, 
and  brought  forth  a  bag  tied  at  the  mouth  with 
cord. 

'  They  are  here!  "  he  said. 

"  The  Jews!  He  has  been  to  the  Jews! " 
cried  the  desert  men. 

"  Bring  a  lamp !  "  said  Ben-Abid. 

And  while  Irena  and  Boria,  the  Golden 
Date  and  the  Lotus  Flower,  held  the  lights, 
and  the  desert  men  crowded  about  him  with 
the  eyes  of  wolves  that  are  near  to  starving, 
he  counted  forth  the  money  on  the  terrace  at 
Halima's  feet.  And  she  gazed  down  at  the 
glittering  pieces  as  one  that  gazes  upon  a  black 
fate. 

"  And  now  set  my  brothers  upon  the 
maiden,"  Ben-Abid  said  to  Sadok,  gather- 
ing up  the  money,  and  casting  it  again  into 
the  bag,  which  he  tied  once  more  with  the 
cord. 

Halima  did  not  move,  but  she  looked  upon 
the  scorpion  that  was  black,  and  her  red  lips 
trembled.  Then  she  closed  her  hand  upon  the 
hedgehog's  foot  that  hung  from  her.  golden 
girdle,  and  shut  her  eyes  beneath  her  ebon  eye- 
brows. 

"Set  my  brothers  upon  her!"  said  Ben- 
Abid. 

The  plunger  of  the  wells  sprang  upon  Hali- 
ma, opened  her  scarlet  bodice  roughly,  plunged 
his  claw  into  her  swelling  bosom,  and  withdrew 

it — empty. 

282 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

"Kiss  her  close,  my  brothers!"  whispered 
Ben-Abid. 

A  long  murmur,  like  the  growl  of  the  tide 
upon  a  shingly  beach,  arose  once  more  from  the 
crowd.  Halima  turned  about,  and  went  slowly 
in  at  her  lighted  doorway,  followed  by  Irena 
and  Boria.  The  heavy  door  of  palm  was  shut 
behind  them.  The  light  was  hidden.  There 
was  a  great  silence.  It  was  broken  by  Sadok's 
voice  screaming  in  his  beard  to  Ben-Abid, 
"  My  money!  Give  me  my  money!  " 

He  snatched  it  with  a  howl,  and  went  caper- 
ing forth  into  the  darkness. 


.  When  the  next  night  fell  upon  the  desert 
there  was  a  great  crowd  assembled  in  the  cafe 
of  the  dancers.  The  pipers  blew  into  their 
pipes,  and  swayed  upon  their  haunches,  turn- 
ing their  glittering  eyes  to  and  fro  to  see  what 
man  had  a  mind  to  press  a  piece  of  money  up- 
on their  well  greased  foreheads.  The  dancers 
came  and  went,  promenading  arm  in  arm  upon 
the  earthen  floor,  or  leaping  with  hands  out- 
stretched and  fingers  fluttering.  The  Kabyle 
attendant  slipped  here  and  there  with  the  cof- 
fee cups,  and  the  wreaths  of  smoke  curled 
lightly  upward  towards  the  wooden  roof. 

But  Halima  came  not  through  the  open 
doorway  holding  the  scarlet  handkerchiefs 
above  her  head. 

And  presently,  late  in  the  night,  they  laid 
283 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

her  body  in  a  palanquin,  and  set  the  palan- 
quin upon  a  running  camel,  and,  while  the 
dancers  shrilled  their  lament  amid  the  sands, 
they  bore  her  away  into  the  darkness  of  the 
dunes  towards  the  south  and  the  tents  of  her 
own  people. 

The  jackals  laughed  as  she  went  by. 


But  the  hedgehog's  foot  was  left  lying  upon 
the  floor  of  her  chamber.  Not  one  of  the 
dancers  would  touch  it. 

That  night  I  was  in  the  cafe,  and,  hearing 
of  all  these  things  from  Kouidah,  the  boy,  I 
went  into  the  court,  and  gathered  up  the  trin- 
ket which  had  brought  a  woman  to  the  great 
silence.  Next  day  I  rode  on  horseback  to 
Tamacine,  asked  to  see  the  marabout  and  told 
him  all  the  story. 

He  listened,  smiling  like  the  rising  sun  in  an 
oleograph,  and  twisting  in  his  huge  hands,  that 
were  tinted  with  the  henna,  the  staff  with  the 
apple-green  ribbons. 

When  I  came  to  the  end  I  said : 

"  O,  holy  marabout,  tell  me  one  thing." 

"  Allah  is  just.     I  listen." 

"If  the  scorpions  had  slept  with  a  veiled 
woman  who  held  the  hedgehog's  foot,  how 
would  it  have  been?  Would  the  woman  have 
died  or  lived? " 

The  marabout  did  not  answer.  He  looked 
at  me  calmly,  as  at  a  child  who  asks  questions 

284: 


HALIMA    AND    THE    SCORPIONS 

about  the  mysteries  of  life  which  only  the  old 
can  understand. 

"  These  things,"  he  said  at  length,  "  are  hid- 
den from  the  unbeliever.  You  are  a  Roumi. 
How,  then,  should  you  learn  such  matters?  " 

"  But  even  the  Roumi— 

"  In  the  desert  there  are.  mysteries,"  con- 
tinued the  marabout,  "  which  even  the  faithful 
must  not  seek  to  penetrate." 

'  Then  it  is  useless  to— 

"It  is  very  useless.  It  is  as  useless  as  to 
try  to  count  the  grains  of  the  sand." 

I  said  no  more. 

Mohammed  El  Aid  Ben  Ali  Tidjani  smiled 
once  more,  and  beckoned  to  a  negro  attendant, 
who  ran  with  a  musical  box,  one  of  the  gifts 
of  the  faithful. 

'  This  comes  from  Paris,"  he  said,  with  a 
spreading  complacence. 

Then  there  was  within  the  box  a  sounding 
click,  and  there  stole  forth  a  tinkling  of  Au- 
ber's  music  to  Masaniello,  "  Come  o'er  the 
moonlit  sea ! " 


285 


THE    DESERT    ]DRUM 

I 

I  AM  not  naturally  superstitious.  The  Sa- 
haraman  is.  He  has  many  strange  be- 
liefs. When  one  is  at  close  quarters  with  him, 
sees  him  day  by  day  in  his  home,  the  great 
desert,  listens  to  his  dramatic  tales  of  desert 
lights,  visions,  sounds,  one's  common-sense  is 
apt  to  be  shaken  on  its  throne.  Perhaps  it  is 
the  influence  of  the  solitude  and  the  wide 
spaces,  of  those  far  horizons  of  the  Sahara 
where  the  blue  deepens  along  the  edge  of  the 
world,  that  turns  even  a  European  mind  to 
an  Eastern  credulity.  Who  can  tell?  The 
truth  is  that  in  the  Sahara  one  can  believe 
what  one  cannot  believe  in  London.  And 
sometimes  circumstances — chance  if  you  like 
to  call  it  so — steps  in,  and  seems  to  say,  "  Your 
belief  is  well  founded." 

Of  all  the  desert  superstitions  the  one  which 
appealed  most  to  my  imagination  was  the 
superstition  of  the  desert  drum.  The  Sahara- 
man  declares  that  far  away  from  the  abodes 
of  men  and  desert  cities,  among  the  everlasting 
sand  dunes,  the  sharp  beating,  or  dull,  distant 
rolling  of  a  drum  sometimes  breaks  upon  the 
ears  of  travellers  voyaging  through  the  desola- 

287 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

tion.  They  look  around,  they  stare  across  the 
flats,  they  see  nothing.  But  the  mysterious 
music  continues.  Then,  if  they  be  Sahara- 
bred,  they  commend  themselves  to  Allah,  for 
they  know  that  some  terrible  disaster  is  at 
hand,  that  one  of  them  at  least  is  doomed  to 
die. 

Often  had  I  heard  stories  of  the  catastro- 
phes which  were  immediately  preceded  by  the 
beating  of  the  desert  drum.  One  night  in  the 
Sahara  I  was  a  witness  to  one  which  I  have 
never  been  able  to  forget. 

On  an  evening  of  spring,  accompanied  by 
a  young  Arab  and  a  negro,  I  rode  slowly  down 
a  low  hill  of  the  Sahara,  and  saw  in  the  sandy 
cup  at  my  feet  the  tiny  collection  of  hovels 
called  Sidi-Massarli.  I  had  been  in  the  saddle 
since  dawn,  riding  over  desolate  tracks  in  the 
heart  of  the  desert.  I  was  hungry,  tired,  and 
felt  almost  like  a  man  hypnotised.  The  strong 
air,  the  clear  sky,  the  everlasting  flats  devoid 
of  vegetation,  empty  of  humanity,  the  monot- 
onous motion  of  my  slowly  cantering  horse 
—all  these  things  combined  to  dull  my  brain 
and  to  throw  me  into  a  peculiar  condition  akin 
to  the  condition  of  a  man  in  a  trance.  At 
Sidi-Massarli  I  was  to  pass  the  night.  I  drew 
rein  and  looked  down  on  it  with  lack-lustre 
eyes. 

I  saw  a  small  group  of  palm-trees,  guarded 
by  a  low  wall  of  baked  brown  earth,  in  which 
were  embedded  many  white  bones  of  dead 

288 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

camels.  Bleached,  grinning  heads  of  camels 
hung  from  more  than  one  of  the  trees,  with 
strings  of  red  pepper  and  round  stones.  Be- 
yond the  wall  of  this  palm  garden,  at  whose 
foot  was  a  furrow  full  of  stagnant  brownish- 
yellow  water,  lay  a  handful  of  wretched 
earthen  hovels,  with  flat  roofs  of  palmwood 
and  low  wooden  doors.  To  be  exact,  I  think 
there  were  five  of  them.  The  Bordj,  or  Trav- 
ellers' House,  at  which  I  was  to  be  accommo- 
dated for  the  night,  stood  alone  near  a  tiny 
source  at  the  edge  of  a  large  sand  dune,  and 
was  a  small,  earth-coloured  building  with  a 
pink  tiled  roof,  minute  arched  windows,  and 
an  open  stable  for  the  horses  and  mules.  All 
round  the  desert  rose  in  humps  of  sand,  melt- 
ing into  stony  ground  where  the  saltpetre  lay 
like  snow  on  a  wintry  world.  There  were  but 
few  signs  of  life  in  this  place;  some  stockings 
drying  on  the  wall  of  a  ruined  Arab  cafe, 
some  kids  frisking  by  a  heap  of  sacks,  a  few 
pigeons  circling  about  a  low  square  watch- 
tower,  a  black  donkey  brooding  on  a  dust  heap. 
There  were  some  signs  of  death;  carcasses  of 
camels  stretched  here  and  there  in  frantic  and 
fantastic  postures,  some  bleached  and  smooth, 
others  red  and  horribly  odorous. 

The  wind  blew  round  this  hospitable  town- 
ship of  the  Sahara,  and  the  yellow  light  of 
evening  began  to  glow  above  it.  It  seemed  to 
me  at  that  moment  the  dreariest  place  in  the 
dreariest  dream  man  had  ever  had. 

289 


THE   DESERT   DRUM 

Suddenly  my  horse  neighed  loudly.  Be- 
yond the  village,  on  the  opposite  hill,  a  white 
Arab  charger  caracoled,  a  red  cloak  gleamed. 
Another  traveller  was  coming  in  to  his  night's 
rest,  and  he  was  a  Spahi.  I  could  almost 
fancy  I  heard  the  jingle  of  his  spurs  and  ac- 
coutrements, the  creaking  of  his  tall  red  boots 
against  his  high  peaked  saddle.  As  he  rode 
down  towards  the  Bordj — by  this  time,  I,  too, 
was  on  my  way — I  saw  that  a  long  cord  hung 
from  his  saddle-bow,  and  that  at  the  end  of 
this  cord  was  a  man,  trotting  heavily  in  the 
heavy  sand  like  a  creature  dogged  and  weary. 
We  came  in  to  Sidi-Massarli  simultaneously, 
and  pulled  up  at  the  same  moment  before  the 
arched  door  of  the  Bordj,  from  which  glided 
a  one-eyed  swarthy  Arab,  staring  fixedly  at 
me.  This  was  the  official  keeper  of  the  house. 
In  one  hand  he  held  the  huge  door  key,  and  as 
I  swung  myself  heavily  on  the  ground  I  heard 
him,  in  Arabic,  asking  my  Arab  attendant, 
D'oud,  who  I  was  and  where  J  hailed  from. 

But  such  attention  as  I  had  to  bestow  on 
anything  just  then  was  given  to  the  Spahi  and 
his  companion.  The  Spahi  was  a  magnificent 
man,  tall,  lithe,  bronze-brown  and  muscular. 
He  looked  about  thirty- four,  and  had  the  face 
of  a  desert  eagle.  His  piercing  black  eyes 
stared  me  calmly  out  of  countenance,  and  he 
sat  on  his  spirited  horse  like  a  statue,  waiting 
patiently  till  the  guardian  of  the  Bordj  was 
ready  to  attend  to  him.  My  gaze  travelled 

290 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

from  him  along  the  cord  to  the  man  at  its  end, 
and  rested  there  with  pity.  He,  too,  was  a 
fine  specimen  of  humanity,  a  giant,  nobly  built, 
with  a  superbly  handsome  face,  something  like 
that  of  an  undefaced  Sphinx.  Broad  brows 
sheltered  his  enormous  eyes.  His  rather  thick 
lips  were  parted  to  allow  his  panting  breath  to 
escape,  and  his  dark,  almost  black  skin,  was 
covered  with  sweat.  Drops  of  sweat  coursed 
down  his  bare  arms  and  his  mighty  chest,  from 
which  his  ragged  burnous  was  drawn  partially 
away.  He  was  evidently  of  mixed  Arab  and 
negro  parentage.  As  he  stood  by  the  Spahi's 
horse,  gasping,  his  face  expressed  nothing  but 
physical  exhaustion.  His  eyes  were  bent  on 
the  sand,  and  his  arms  hung  down  loosely  at 
his  sides.  While  I  looked  at  him  the  Spahi 
suddenly  gave  a  tug  at  the  cord  to  which  he 
was  attached.  He  moved  in  nearer  to  the 
horse,  glanced  up  at  me,  held  out  his  hand,  and 
said  in  a  low,  musical  voice,  speaking  Arabic: 

"  Give  me  a  cigarette,  Sidi." 

I  opened  my  case  and  gave  him  one,  at  the 
same  time  diplomatically  handing  another  to 
the  Spahi.  Thus  we  opened  our  night's  ac- 
quaintance, an  acquaintance  which  I  shall  not 
easily  forget. 

In  the  desolation  of  the  Sahara  a  travelling 
intimacy  is  quickly  formed.  The  one-eyed 
Arab  led  our  horses  to  the  stable,  and  while  my 
two  attendants  were  inside  unpacking  the 
tinned  food  and  the  wine  I  carried  with  me  on 

291 


THE    DESERT   DRUM 

a  mule,  I  entered  into  conversation  with  the 
Spahi,  who  spoke  French  fairly  well.  He 
told  me  that  he*  was  on  the  way  to  El  Arba,  a 
long  journey  through  the  desert  from  Sidi- 
Massarli,  and  that  his  business  was  to  convey 
there  the  man  at  the  end  of  the  cord. 

"  But  what  is  he?     A  prisoner?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  murderer,  monsieur,"  the  Spahi  replied 
calmly. 

I  looked  again  at  the  man,  who  was  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  face  with  one  huge  hand. 
He  smiled  and  made  a  gesture  of  assent. 

"  Does  he  understand  French?  " 

"  A  little." 

"  And  he  committed  murder?  " 

"  At  Tunis.     He  was  a  butcher  there.     He 
cut  a  man's  throat." 
'  Why? " 

"  I  don't  know,  monsieur.  Perhaps  he  was 
jealous.  It  is  hot  in  Tunis  in  the  summer. 
That  was  five  years  ago,  and  ever  since  he  has 
been  in  prison." 

"  And  why  are  you  taking  him  to  El  Arba?  " 

"  He  came  from  there.  He  is  released,  but 
he  is  not  allowed  to  live  any  more  in  Tunis. 
Ah,  monsieur,  he  is  mad  at  going,  for  he  loves 
a  dancing-girl,  Aichouch,  who  dances  with  the 
Jewesses  in  the  cafe  by  the  lake.  He  wanted 
even  to  stay  in  prison,  if  only  he  might  remain 
in  Tunis.  He  never  saw  her,  but  he  was  in  the 
same  town,  you  understand.  That  was  some- 
thing. All  the  first  day  he  ran  behind  my 

292 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

horse  cursing  me  for  taking  him  away.  But 
now  the  sand  has  got  into  his  throat.  He  is 
so  tired  that  he  can  scarcely  run.  So  he  does 
not  curse  any  more." 

The  captive  giant  smiled  at  me  again.  De- 
spite his  great  stature,  his  powerful  and  im- 
pressive features,  he  looked,  I  thought,  very 
gentle  and  submissive.  The  story  of  his  pas- 
sion for  Aichouch,  his  desire  to  be  near  her, 
even  in  a  prison  cell,  had  appealed  to  me.  I 
pitied  him  sincerely. 

"  What  is  his  name?  "  I  asked. 

"  M'hammed  Bouaziz.     Mine  is  Said." 

I  was  weary  with  riding  and  wanted  to 
stretch  my  legs,  and  see  what  was  to  be  seen 
of  Sidi-Massarli  ere  evening  quite  closed  in, 
so  at  this  point  I  lit  a  cigar  and  prepared  to 
stroll  off. 

:<  Monsieur  is  going  for  a  walk?  "  asked  the 
Spahi,  fixing  his  eyes  on  my  cigar. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  will  accompany  monsieur," 

"  Or  monsieur's  cigar-case,"  I  thought. 

"  But  that  poor  fellow,"  I  said,  pointing  to 
the  murderer.  "  He  is  tired  out." 

"  That  doesn't  matter.     He  will  come  with 


us." 


The  Spahi  jerked  the  cord  and  we  set  out, 
the  murderer  creeping  over  the  sand  behind  us 
like  some  exhausted  animal. 

By  this  time  twilight  was  falling  over  the 
Sahara,  a  grim  twilight,  cold  and  grey.  The 

293 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

wind  was  rising.  In  the  night  it  blew  half  a 
gale,  but  at  this  hour  there  was  only  a  strong 
breeze  in  which  minute  sand-grains  danced. 
The  murderer's  feet  were  shod  with  patched 
slippers,  and  the  sound  of  these  slippers  shuf- 
fling close  behind  me  made  me  feel  faintly  un- 
easy. The  Spahi  stared  at  my  cigar  so  persist- 
ently that  I  was  obliged  to  offer  him  one. 
When  I  had  done  so,  and  he  had  loftily  ac- 
cepted it,  I  half  turned  towards  the  murderer. 
The  Spahi  scowled  ferociously.  I  put  my 
cigar-case  back  into  my  pocket.  It  is  unwise  to 
offend  the  powerful  if  your  sympathy  lies  with 
the  powerless. 

Sidi-Massarli  was  soon  explored.  It  con- 
tained a  Cafe  Maure,  into  which  I  peered.  In 
the  coffee  niche  the  embers  glowed.  One  or 
two  ragged  Arabs  sat  hunched  upon  the 
earthen  divans  playing  a  game  of  cards.  At 
least  I  should  have  my  coffee  after  my  tinned 
dinner.  I  was  turning  to  go  back  to  the  Bordj 
when  the  extreme  desolation  of  the  desert 
around,  now  fading  in  the  shadows  of  a  moon- 
less  night,  stirred  me  to  a  desire.  Sidi-Mas- 
sarli was  dreary  enough.  Still  it  contained 
habitations,  men.  I  wished  to  feel  the  blank, 
wild  emptiness  of  this  world,  so  far  from  the 
world  of  civilisation  from  which  I  had  come, 
to  feel  it  with  intensity.  I  resolved  to  mount 
the  low  hill  down  which  I  had  seen  the  Spahi 
ride,  to  descend  into  the  fold  of  desert  beyond 
it,  to  pause  there  a  moment,  out  of  sight  of  the 

294 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

hamlet,  listen  to  the  breeze,  look  at  the  darken- 
ing sky,  feel  the  sand-grains  stinging  my 
cheeks,  shake  hands  with  the  Sahara. 

But  I  wanted  to  shake  hands  quite  alone.  I 
therefore  suggested  to  the  Spahi  that  he  should 
remain  in  the  Cafe  Maure  and  drink  a  cup  of 
coffee  at  my  expense. 

"  And  where  is  monsieur  going?  " 

"  Only  over  that  hill  for  a  moment." 

"  I  will  accompany  monsieur." 

"  But  you  must  be  tired.     A  cup  of " 

"  I  will  accompany  monsieur." 

In  Arab  fashion  he  was  establishing  a  claim 
upon  me.  On  the  morrow,  when  I  was  about 
to  depart,  he  would  point  out  that  he  had 
guided  me  round  Sidi-Massarli,  had  guarded 
me  in  my  dangerous  expedition  beyond  its 
fascinations,  despite  his  weariness  and  hunger. 
I  knew  how  useless  it  is  to  contend  with  these 
polite  and  persistent  rascals,  so  I  said  no  more. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  Spahi,  the  murderer 
and  I  stood  in  the  fold  of  the  sand  dunes,  and 
Sidi-Massarli  was  blotted  from  our  sight. 


295 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 


II 

THE  desolation  here  was  complete.  All 
around  us  lay  the  dunes,  monstrous  as  still 
leviathans.  Here  and  there,  between  their 
strange,  suggestive  shapes,  under  the  dark  sky 
one  could  see  the  ghastly  whiteness  of  the  salt- 
petre in  the  arid  plains  beyond,  where  the  low 
bushes  bent  in  the  chilly  breeze.  I  thought  of 
London — only  a  few  days'  journey  from  me 
— revelled  for  a  moment  in  my  situation, 
which,  contrary  to  my  expectation,  was  rather 
emphasised  by  the  presence  of  my  companions. 
The  gorgeous  Spahi,  with  his  scarlet  cloak  and 
hood,  his  musket  and  sword,  his  high  red  leg- 
gings, the  ragged,  sweating  captive  in  his 
patched  burnous,  ex-butcher  looking,  despite 
his  cord  emblem  of  bondage,  like  reigning 
Emperor — they  were  appropriate  figures  in 
this  desert  place.  I  had  just  thought  this,  and 
was  regarding  my  Sackville  Street  suit  with 
disgust,  when  a  low,  distinct  and  near  sound 
suddenly  rose  from  behind  a  sand  dune  on  my 
left.  It  was  exactly  like  the  dull  beating  of  a 
tom-tom.  The  silence  preceding  it  had  been 
intense,  for  the  breeze  was  as  yet  too  light  to 
make  more  than  the  faintest  sighing  music, 
and  in  the  gathering  darkness  this  abrupt  and 
gloomy  noise  produced,  I  supposed,  by  some 

296 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

hidden  nomad,  made  a  very  unpleasant,  even 
sinister  impression  upon  me.  Instinctively  I 
put  my  hand  on  the  revolver  which  was  slung 
at  my  side  in  a  pouch  of  gazelle  skin.  As  I  did 
so,  I  saw  the  Spahi  turn  sharply  and  gaze  in 
the  direction  of  the  sound,  lifting  one  hand  to 
his  ear. 

The  low  thunder  of  the  instrument,  beaten 
rhythmically  and  persistently,  grew  louder  and 
was  evidently  drawing  nearer.  The  musician 
must  be  climbing  up  the  far  side  of  the  dune. 
I  had  swung  round  to  face  him,  and  expected 
every  moment  to  see  some  wild  figure  appear 
upon  the  summit,  defining  itself  against  the 
cold  and  gloomy  sky.  But  none  came.  Nev- 
ertheless, the  noise  increased  till  it  was  a  roar, 
drew  near  till  it  was  actually  upon  us.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  the  sticks  striking 
the  hard,  stretched  skin  furiously,  as  if  some 
phantom  drummer  were  stealthily  encircling 
us,  catching  us  in  a  net,  a  trap  of  horrible, 
vicious  uproar.  Instinctively  I  threw  a  ques- 
tioning, perhaps  an  appealing,  glance  at  my 
two  companions.  The  Spahi  had  dropped  his 
hand  from  his  ear.  He  stood  upright,  as  if 
at  attention  on  the  parade-ground  of  Biskra. 
His  face  was  set — afterwards  I  told  myself 
it  was  fatalistic.  The  murderer,  on  the  other 
hand,  was  smiling.  I  remember  the  gleam  of 
his  big  white  teeth.  Why  was  he  smiling? 
While  I  asked  myself  the  question  the  roar  of 
the  tom-tom  grew  gradually  less,  as  if  the  man 

297 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

beating  it  were  walking  rapidly  away  from  us 
in  the  direction  of  Sidi-Massarli.  None  of 
us  said  a  word  till  only  a  faint,  heavy  throb- 
bing, like  the  beating  of  a  heart,  I  fancied,  was 
audible  in  the  darkness.  Then  I  spoke,  as 
silence  fell. 
'Who  is  it?" 

"  Monsieur,  it  is  no  one." 

The  Spahi's  voice  was  dry  and  soft. 

•'  What  is  it?  " 

"Monsieur,  it  is  the  desert  drum.'  There 
will  be  death  in  Sidi-Massarli  to-night." 

I  felt  myself  turn  cold.  He  spoke  with 
such  conviction.  The  murderer  was  still  smil- 
ing, and  I  noticed  that  the  tired  look  had  left 
him.  He  stood  in  an  alert  attitude,  and  the 
sweat  had  dried  on  his  broad  forehead. 

'  The  desert  drum?"  I  repeated. 

"  Monsieur  has  not  heard  of  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard — but — it  can't  be. 
There  must  have  been  someone." 

I  looked  at  the  white  teeth  of  the  murderer, 
white  as  the  saltpetre  which  makes  winter  in 
the  desert. 

"  I  must  get  back  to  the  Bordj,"  I  said  ab- 
ruptly. 

"  I  will  accompany  monsieur." 

The  old  formula,  and  this  time  the  voice 
which  spoke  it  sounded  natural.  We  went  for- 
ward together.  I  walked  very  fast.  I  wanted 
to  catch  up  that  music,  to  prove  to  myself  that 
it  was  produced  by  human  fists  and  sticks  upon 

298 


THE    DESERT   DRUM 

an  instrument  which,  however  barbarous,  had 
been  fashioned  by  human  hands.  But  we  en- 
tered Sidi-Massarli  in  a  silence,  only  broken 
by  the  soughing  of  the  wind  and  the  heavy 
shuffle  of  the  murderer's  feet  upon  the  sand. 

Outside  the  Cafe  Maure  D'oud  was  stand- 
ing with  the  white  hood  of  his  burnous  drawn 
forward  over  his  head;  one  or  two  ragged 
Arabs  stood  with  him. 

"  They've  been  playing  tom-toms  in  the  vil- 
lage, D'oud?" 

"  Monsieur  asks  if " 

"  Tom-toms.     Can't  you  understand?  " 

"Ah!  Monsieur  is  laughing.  Tom-toms 
here!  And  dancers,  too,  perhaps!  Monsieur 
thinks  there  are  dancers  ?  Fatma  and  Khadi j  a 
and  Aichouch " 

I  glanced  quickly  at  the  murderer  as  D'oud 
mentioned  the  last  name,  a  name  common  to 
many  dancers  of  the  East.  I  think  I  expected 
to  see  upon  his  face  some  tremendous  expres- 
sion, a  revelation  of  the  soul  of  the  man  who 
had  run  for  one  whole  day  through  the  sand 
behind  the  Spahi's  horse,  cursing  at  the  e-nd  of 
the  cord  which  dragged  him  onward  from 
Tunis. 

But  I  only  met  the  gentle  smile  of  eyes  so 
tender,  so  submissive,  that  they  were  as  the 
eyes  of  a  woman  who  had  always  been  a  slave, 
while  the  ragged  Arabs  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  tom-toms  in  Sidi-Massarli. 


299 


THE   DESERT   DRUM 

WHen  we  reached  the  Bordj  I  found  that  it 
contained  only  one  good-sized  room,  quite 
bare,  with  stone  floor  and  white  walls.  Here, 
upon  a  deal  table,  was  set  forth  my  repast ;  the 
foods  I  had  brought  with  me,  and  a  red  Arab 
soup  served  in  a  gigantic  bowl  of  palmwood. 
A  candle  guttered  in  the  glass  neck  of  a  bot- 
tle, and  upon  the  floor  were  already  spread 
my  gaudy  striped  quilt,  my  pillow,  and  my 
blanket.  The  Spahi  surveyed  these  prepara- 
tions with  a  deliberate  greediness,  lingering  in 
the  narrow  doorway. 

I  sat  down  on  a  bench  before  the  table. 
My  attendants  were  to  eat  at  the  Cafe 
Maure. 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  sleep? "  I  asked 
of  D'oud. 

"  At  the  Cafe  Maure,  monsieur,  if  monsieur 
is  not  afraid  to  sleep  alone.  Here  is  the  key. 
Monsieur  can  lock  himself  in.  The  door  is 
strong." 

I  was  helping  myself  to  the  soup.  The  ris- 
ing wind  blew  up  the  skirts  of  the  Spain's  scar- 
let robe.  In  the  wind — was  it  imagination? — 
I  seemed  to  hear  some  thin,  passing  echoes  of 
a  tom-tom's  beat. 

"  Come  in,"  I  said  to  the  Spahi.  '  You 
shall  sup  with  me  to-night,  and — and  you  shall 
sleep  here  with  me." 

D'oud's  expressive  face  became  sinister. 
Arabs  are  almost  as  jealous  as  they  are 
vain. 

300 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

"  But,  monsieur,  he  will  sleep  in  the  Cafe 
Maure.  If  monsieur  wishes  for  a  companion, 
I " 

"  Come  in,"  I  repeated  to  the  Spahi.  '  You 
can  sleep  here  to-night." 

The  Spahi  stepped  over  the  lintel  with  a 
jingling  of  spurs,  a  rattling  of  accoutrements. 
The  murderer  stepped  in  softly  after  him, 
drawn  by  the  cord.  D'oud  began  to  look  as 
grim  as  death.  He  made  a  ferocious  gesture 
towards  the  murderer. 

"  And  that  man?  Monsieur  wishes  to  sleep 
in  the  same  room  with  him? " 

I  heard  the  sound  of  the  tom-tom  above  the 
wail  of  the  wind. 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

Why  did  I  wish  it?  I  hardly  know.  I  had 
no  fear  for,  no  desire  to  protect  myself.  But 
I  remembered  the  smile  I  had  seen,  the  Spahi's 
saying,  "  There  will  be  death  in  Sidi-Massarli 
to-night,"  and  I  was  resolved  that  the  three 
men  who  had  heard  the  desert  drum  together 
should  not  be  parted  till  the  morning.  D'oud 
said  no  more.  He  waited  upon  me  with  his 
usual  diligence,  but  I  could  see  that  he  was 
furiously  angry.  The  Spahi  ate  ravenously. 
So  did  the  murderer,  who  more  than  once, 
however,  seemed  to  be  dropping  to  sleep  over 
his  food.  He  was  apparently  dead  tired.  As 
the  wind  was  now  become  very  violent  I  did 
not  feel  disposed  to  stir  out  again,  and  I  or- 
dered D'oud  to  bring  us  three  cups  of  coffee 

301 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

to  the  Bordj.  He  cast  a  vicious  look  at  the 
Spahi  and  went  out  into  the  darkness.  I  saw 
him  no  more  that  night.  A  boy  from  the  Cafe 
Maure  brought  us  coffee,  cleared  the  remains 
of  our  supper  from  the  table,  and  presently 
muttered  some  Arab  salutation,  departed,  and 
was  lost  in  the  wind. 

The  murderer  was  now  frankly  asleep  with 
his  head  upon  the  table,  and  the  Spahi  began 
to  blink.  I,  too,  felt  very  tired,  but  I  had 
something  still  to  say.  Speaking  softly,  I 
said  to  the  Spahi : 

"  That  sound  we  heard  to-night— 

"  Monsieur? " 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  it  before?  " 

"Never,  monsieur.  But  my  brother  heard 
it  just  before  he  had  a  stroke  of  the  sun.  He 
fell  dead  before  his  captain  beside  the  wall  of 
Sada.  He  was  a  tirailleur." 

"  And  you  think  this  sound  means  that  death 
is  near?  " 

"  I  know  it,  monsieur.  All  desert  people 
know  it.  I  was  born  at  Touggourt,  and  how 
should  I  not  know?  " 

"  But  then  one  of  us " 

I  looked  from  him  to  the  sleeping  mur- 
derer. 

"  There  will  be  death  in  Sidi-Massarli  to- 
night, monsieur.  It  is  the  will  of  Allah. 
Blessed  be  Allah." 

I  got  up,  locked  the  heavy  door  of  the 
Bordj,  and  put  the  key  in  the  inner  pocket  of 

302 


THE    DESEUT    DRUM 

my  coat.  As  I  did  so,  I  fancied  I  saw  the 
heavy  black  lids  of  the  murderer's  closed  eyes 
flutter  for  a  moment.  But  I  cannot  be  sure. 
My  head  was  aching  with  fatigue.  The 
Spahi,  too,  looked  stupid  with  sleep.  He 
jerked  the  cord,  the  murderer  awoke  with  a 
start,  glanced  heavily  round,  stood  up.  Pull- 
ing him  as  one  would  an  obstinate  dog,  the 
Spahi  made  him  lie  down  on  the  bare  floor  in 
the  corner  of  the  Bordj,  ere  he  himself  curled 
up  in  the  thick  quilt  which  had  been  rolled  up 
behind  his  high  saddle.  I  made  no  protest, 
but  when  the  Spahi  was  asleep,  his  lean  brown 
hand  laid  upon  his  sword,  his  musket  under  his 
shaven  head,  I  pushed  one  of  my  blankets  over 
to  the  murderer,  who  lay  looking  like  a  heap  of 
rags  against  the  white  wall.  He  smiled  at  me 
gently,  as  he  had  smiled  when  the  desert  drum 
was  beating,  and  drew  the  blanket  over  his 
mighty  limbs  and  face. 

I  did  not  mean  to  sleep  that  night.  Tired 
though  I  was  my  brain  was  so  excited  that  I 
felt  I  should  not.  I  blew  out  the  candle  with- 
out even  the  thought  that  it  would  be  necessary 
to  struggle  against  sleep.  And  in  the  dark- 
ness I  heard  for  an  instant  the  roar  of  the  wind 
outside,  the  heavy  breathing  of  my  two  strange 
companions  within.  For  an  instant — then  it 
seemed  as  if  a  shutter  was  drawn  suddenly 
over  the  light  in  my  brain.  Blackness  filled 
the  room  where  the  thoughts  develop,  crowd, 
stir  in  endless  activities.  Slumber  fell  upon 

303 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

me  like  a  great  stone  that  strikes  a  man  down 
to  dumbness,  to  unconsciousness. 


Far  in  the  night  I  had  a  dream.  I  cannot 
recall  it  accurately  now.  I  could  not  recall  it 
even  the  next  morning  when  I  awoke.  But  in 
this  dream,  it  seemed  to  me  that  fingers  felt 
softly  about  my  heart.  I  was  conscious  of 
their  fluttering  touch.  It  was  as  if  I  were 
dead,  and  as  if  the  doctor  laid  for  a  moment 
his  hand  upon  my  heart  to  convince  himself 
that  the  pulse  of  life  no  longer  beat.  And 
this  action  wove  itself  naturally  into  the  dream 
I  had.  The  fingers  so  soft,  so  surreptitious, 
were  lifted  from  my  breast,  and  I  sank  deeper 
into  the  gulf  of  sleep,  below  the  place  of 
dreams.  For  I  was  a  tired  man  that  night. 
At  the  first  breath  of  dawn  I  stirred  and  woke. 
It  was  cold.  I  put  out  one  hand  and  drew  up 
my  quilt.  Then  I  lay  still.  The  wind  had 
sunk.  I  no  longer  heard  it  roaring  over  the 
desert.  For  a  moment  I  hardly  remembered 
where  I  was,  then  memory  came  back  and  I 
listened  for  the  deep  breathing  of  the  Spahi 
and  the  murderer.  Even  when  the  wind  blew 
I  had  heard  it.  I  did  not  hear  it  now.  I  lay 
there  under  my  quilt  for  some  minutes  listen- 
ing'. The  silence  was  intense.  Had  they  gone 
already,  started  on  their  way  to  El  Arba?  The 
Bordj  was  in  darkness,  for  the  windows  were 
very  small,  and  dawn  had  scarcely  begun  to 

304 


THE   DESERT   DRUM 

break  outside  and  had  not  yet  filtered  in 
through  the  wooden  shutters  which  barred 
them.  I  disliked  this  complete  silence,  and 
felt  about  for  the  matches  I  had  laid  beside 
the  candle  before  turning  in.  I  could  not  find 
them.  Someone  had  moved  them,  then.  The 
heaviness  of  sleep  had  quite  left  me  now,  and 
I  remembered  clearly  all  the  incidents  of  the 
previous  evening.  The  roll  of  the  desert 
drum  sounded  again  in  my  ears.  I  threw  off 
my  quilt,  got  up,  and  moved  softly  over  the 
stone  floor  towards  the  corner  where  the  mur- 
derer had  lain  down  to  sleep.  I  bent  down 
to  touch  him  and  touched  the  stone.  They 
had  gone,  then!  It  was  strange  that  I  had  not 
been  waked  by  their  departure.  Besides,  I 
had  the  key  of  the  door.  I  thrust  my  hand 
into  the  breast-pocket  of  my  coat  which  I  had 
worn  while  I  slept.  The  key  was  no  longer 
there.  Then  I  remembered  my  dream  and  the 
fingers  fluttering  round  my  heart.  Stumbling 
in  the  blackness  I  came  to  the  place  where  the 
Spahi  had  lain,  stretched  out  my  hands  and 
felt  naked  flesh.  My  hands  recoiled  from  it, 
for  it  was  very  cold. 

Half-an-hour  later  the  one-eyed  Arab  who 
kept  the  Bordj,  roused  by  my  beating  upon 
the  door  with  the  butt  end  of  my  revolver, 
came  with  D'oud  to  ask  what  was  the  matter. 
The  door  had  to  be  broken  in.  This  took  some 
time.  Long  before  I  could  escape,  the  light 
of  the  sun,  entering  through  the  little  arched 

305 


THE    DESERT    DRUM 

windows,  had  illumined  the  nude  corpse  of  the 
Spahi,  the  gaping  red  wound  in  his  throat,  the 
heap  of  murderer's  rags  that  lay  across  his 
feet. 

M 'hammed  Bouaziz,  in  the  red  cloak,  the 
red  boots,  sword  at  his  side,  musket  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  was  galloping  over  the  desert 
on  his  way  to  freedom. 


But  six  months  later  he  was  taken  at  night 
outside  a  cafe  by  the  lake  at  Tunis.  He  was 
gazing  through  the  doorway  at  a  girl  who 
was  posturing  to  the  sound  of  pipes  between 
two  rows  of  Arabs.  The  light  from  the  cafe 
fell  upon  his  face,  the  dancer  uttered  a  cry. 

"M'hammed  Bouaziz!" 

"Aichouch!" 

The  law  avenged  the  Spahi,  and  this  time  it 
was  not  to  prison  they  led  my  friend  of  Sidi- 
Massarli,  but  to  an  open  space  before  a  squad 
of  soldiers  just  when  the  dawn  was  breaking. 


306 


THE  PRINCESS  AND  THE 
JEWEL   DOCTOR 

IN  St.  Petersburg  society  there  may  be  met 
at  the  present  time  a  certain  Russian  Prin- 
cess, who  is  noted  for  her  beauty,  for  an  ugly 
defect — she  has  lost  the  forefinger  of  her  left 
hand — and  for  her  extraordinary  attachment 
to  the  city  of  Tunis,  where  she  has  spent  at 
least  three  months  of  each  year  since  1890— 
the  year  in  which  she  suffered  the  accident  that 
deprived  her  of  a  finger.  What  that  accident 
,was,  and  why  she  is  so  passionately  attached 
to  Tunis,  nobody  in  Russia  seems  to  know,  not 
even  her  doting  husband,  who  bows  to  all  her 
caprices.  But  two  persons  could  explain  the 
matter — a  Tunisian  guide  named  Abdul,  and 
a  rather  mysterious  individual  who  follows  a 
humble  calling  in  the  Rue  Ben-Ziad,  close  to 
the  Tunis  bazaars.  This  latter  is  the  Princess's 
personal  attendant  during  her  yearly  visit  to 
Tunis.  He  accompanies  her  everywhere,  may 
be  seen  in  the  hall  of  her  hotel  when  she  is  at 
home,  on  the  box  of  her  carriage  when  she 
drives  out,  close  behind  her  when  she  is  walk- 
ing. He  is  her  shadow  in  Africa.  Only  when 
she  goes  back  to  Russia  does  he  return  to  his 
profession  in  the  Rue  Ben-Ziad. 

This  is  the  exact  history  of  the  accident 
307 


THE   PRINCESS 

which  befell  the  Princess  in  1890.  In  the  spring 
of  that  year  she  arrived  one  night  at  Tunis. 
She  had  not  long  been  married  to  an  honour- 
able man  whom  she  adored.  She  was  rich,  pret- 
ty, and  popular.  Yet  her  life  was  clouded  by  a 
great  fear  that  sometimes  made  the  darkness 
of  night  almost  intolerable  to  her.  She  dreaded 
lest  the  darkness  of  blindness  should  come 
upon  her.  Both  her  mother,  now  dead,  and 
her  grandfather  had  laboured  under  this  de- 
fect. They  had  been  born  with  sight,  and  had 
become  totally  blind  ere  they  reached  the  age 
of  forty.  Princess  Danischeff — as  we  may 
call  her  for  the  purpose  of  this  story — trem- 
bled when  she  thought  of  their  fate,  and  that 
it  might  be  hers.  Certain  books  that  she  read, 
certain  conversations  on  the  subject  of  hered-r 
ity  that  she  heard  in  Petersburg  society  fed 
her  terror.  Occasionally,  too,  when  she  stood 
under  a  strong  light  she  felt  a  slight  pain  in 
her  eyes.  She  never  spoke  of  her  fear,  but  she 
fell  into  a  condition  of  nervous  exhaustion  that 
alarmed  her  husband  and  her  physician.  The 
latter  recommended  foreign  travel  as  a  tonic. 
The  former,  who  was  detained  in  the  capital 
by  political  affairs,  reluctantly  agreed  to  a 
separation  from  his  wife.  And  thus  it  came 
about,  that,  late  one  night  of  spring,  the 
Princess  and  her  companion,  the  elderly  Coun- 
tess de  RosnikofF,  arrived  in  Tunis  at  the  close 
of  a  tour  in  Algeria,  and  put  up  at  the  Hotel 
Royal. 

308 


AND   THE   JEWEL   DOCTOR 

The  bazaars  of  Tunis  are  among  the  best 
that  exist  in  the  world  of  bazaars,  and,  on  the 
morning  after  her  arrival,  the  Princess  was 
anxious  to  explore  them  with  her  companion. 
But  Madame  de  Rosnikoff  was  fatigued  by 
her  journey  from  Constantine.  She  begged 
the  Princess  to  go  without  her,  desiring  earn- 
estly to  be  left  in  her  bedroom  with  a  cup  of 
weak  tea  and  a  French  novel.  The  Princess, 
therefore,  ordered  a  guide  and  set  forth  to  the 
bazaars. 

The  guide's  name  was  Abdul.  He  was  a 
talkative  young  Eastern,  and  as  he  turned 
with  the  Princess  into  the  network  of  tiny 
alleys  that  spreads  from  the  Bab-el-bahar  to 
the  bazaars,  he  poured  forth  a  flood  of  infor- 
mation about  the  marvels  of  his  native  city. 
The  Princess  listened  idly.  That  morning  she 
was  cruelly  pre-occupied.  As  she  stepped  out 
of  the  hotel  into  the  bright  sunshine  she  had 
felt  a  sharp  pain  in  her  eyes,  and  now,  though 
she  held  over  her  head  a  large  green  parasol, 
the  pain  continued.  She  looked  at  the  light 
and  thought  of  the  darkness  that  might  be 
coming  upon  her,  and  the  chatter  of  Abdul 
sounded  vague  in  her  ears.  Presently,  how- 
ever, she  was  forced  to  attend  to  him,  for  he 
asked  her  a  direct  question. 

"  To-day  they  sell  jewels  by  auction  near 
the  Mosquee  Djama-ez-Zitouna,"  he  said. 
"  Would  the  gracious  Princess  like  to  see  the 
market  of  the  jewels?  " 

309 


THE    PRINCESS 

The  Princess  put  her  hand  to  her  eyes  and 
assented  in  a  low  voice.  Abdul  turned  out  of 
the  sunshine  into  a  narrow  alley  covered  with  a 
wooden  roof.  It  was  full  of  shadows  and  of 
squatting  men,  who  held  out  brown  hands  to 
the  Princess  as  she  passed.  But  she  was  star- 
ing at  the  shadows  and  did  not  see  the  mer- 
chants of  Goblin  Market.  Leaving  this  alley 
Abdul  led  her  abruptly  into  a  dense  crowd  of 
Arabs,  who  were  all  talking,  gesticulating,  and 
moving  hither  and  thither,  apparently  under 
the  influence  of  extreme  excitement.  Many  of 
them  held  rings,  bracelets,  or  brooches  between 
their  fingers,  and  some  extended  palms  upon 
which  lay  quantities  of  uncut  jewels — tur- 
quoises, sapphires,  and  emeralds.  At  a  little 
distance  a  grave  man  was  noting  down  some- 
thing in  a  book.  But  the  Princess  scarcely 
observed  the  progress  of  the  jewel  auction. 
Her  attention  had  been  attracted  by  an  ex- 
traordinary figure  that  stood  near  her.  This 
was  an  immensely  tall  Arab,  dressed  in  a  dingy 
brown  robe,  and  wearing  upon  his  shaven 
head,  which  narrowed  almost  to  a  point  at 
the  back,  a  red  fez  with  a  large  black  tassel. 
His  claw-like  hands  were  covered  with  rings 
and  his  bony  wrists  with  bracelets.  But  the  at- 
tention of  the  Princess  was  riveted  by  his  eyes. 
They  were  small  and  bright,  arid  squinted 
horribly — so  horribly,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  at  what  he  was  looking.  These  eyes  gave 
to  his  face  an  expression  of  diabolic  and  ruth- 

310 


AND   THE   JEWEL   DOCTOR 

less  vigilance  and  cunning.  He  seemed  at  the 
same  time  to  be  seeing  everything  and  to  be 
gazing  definitely  at  nothing. 

"That  is  Safti,  the  jewel  doctor,"  mur- 
mured Abdul  in  the  ear  of  the  Princess. 

"  A  jewel  doctor!  What  is  that?  "  asked  the 
Princess. 

"  When  you  are  sick  he  cures  you  with 
jewels." 

"And  what  can  he  cure?"  said  the  Prin- 
cess, still  looking  at  Safti,  who  was  now  bar- 
gaining vociferously  with  a  fat  Arab  for  a 
piece  of  milk-white  jade. 

"  All  things.  I  was  sick  of  a  fever  that 
comes  with  the  summer.  He  gave  me  a  stone 
crushed  to  a  powder,  and  I  was  well.  He 
saved  from  death  one  of  the  Bey's  sons,  who 
was  dying  from  hijada.  And  then,  too,  he 
has  a  stone  in  a  ring  which  can  preserve  sight 
to  him  who  is  going  blind." 

The  Princess  started  violently. 

"Impossible!"  she  cried. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Abdul.  "  It  is  a  green 
stone — like  that." 

He  pointed  to  an  emerald  which  an  Arab 
was  holding  up  to  the  light. 

The  Princess  put  her  hand  to  her  eyes. 
They  still  ached,  and  her  temples  were  throb- 
bing furiously. 

"  I  cannot  stay  here,"  she  said.    "  It  is  too 

hot.    But tell  the  jewel  doctor  that  I  wish 

to  visit  him.    Where  does  he  live?  " 

311 


THE    PRINCESS 

"  In  a  little  street,  Rue  Ben-Ziad,  in  a  little 
house.  But  he  is  rich."  Abdul  spread  his 
arms  abroad.  "  When  will  the  gracious  Prin- 
cess  ? " 

1  This  afternoon.  At — at  four  o'clock  you 
will  take  me." 

Abdul  spoke  to  Safti,  who  turned,  squinted 
horribly  at  the  Princess,  and  salaamed  to  her 
with  a  curious  and  contradictory  dignity,  turn- 
ing his  fingers,  covered  with  jewels,  towards 
the  earth. 

That  afternoon,  at  four,  when  the  venerable 
Madame  de  Rosnikoff  was  still  drinking  her 
weak  tea  and  reading  her  French  novel,  the 
Princess  and  Abdul  stood  before  the  low 
wooden  door  of  the  jewel  doctor's  house.  Ab- 
dul struck  upon  it,  and  the  terrible  physician 
appeared  in  the  dark  aperture,  looking  all 
ways  with  his  deformed  eyes,  which  fascinated 
the  Princess.  Having  ascertained  that  he 
could  speak  a  little  broken  French,  like  many 
of  the  Tunisian  Arabs,  she  bade  Abdul  wait 
outside,  and  entered  the  hovel  of  the  jewel 
doctor,  who  shut  close  the  door  behind  her. 

The  room  in  which  she  found  herself  was 
dark  and  scented.  Faint  light  from  the  street 
filtered  in  through  an  aperture  in  the  wall, 
across  which  was  partially  drawn  a  wooden 
shutter.  Round  the  room  ran  a  divan  covered 
with  straw  matting,  and  Safti  now  conducted 
the  Princess  ceremoniously  to  this,  and  handed 
her  a  cup  of  thick  coffee,  which  he  took  from 

312 


AND    THE   JEWEL   DOCTOR 

a  brass  tray  that  was  placed  upon  a  stand.  As 
she  sipped  the  coffee  and  looked  at  the  pointed 
head  and  twisted  gaze  of  Safti,  the  Princess 
heard  some  distant  Arab  at  a  street  corner 
singing  monotonously  a  tuneless  song,  and  the 
scent,  the  darkness,  the  reiterated  song,  and 
the  tall,  strange  creature  standing  silently  be- 
fore her  gave  to  her,  in  their  combination,  the 
atmosphere  of  a  dream.  She  found  it  difficult 
to  speak,  to  explain  her  errand. 

At  length  she  said:  "You  are  a  doctor? 
You  can  cure  the  sick?  " 

Safti  salaamed. 

"  With  jewels?    Is  that  possible?  " 

"Jewels  are  the  only  medicine,"  Safti  re- 
plied, speaking  with  sudden  volubility. 
"  With  the  ruby  I  cure  madness,  with  the 
white  jade  the  disease  of  the  hijada,  and  with 
the  bloodstone  haemorrhage.  I  have  made  a 
man  who  was  ill  of  fever  wear  a  topaz,  and 
he  arose  from  bed  and  walked  happily  in  the 
street." 

"And  with  an  emerald,"  interrupted  the 
Princess;  "have  you  not  preserved  sight  with 
an  emerald?  They  told  me  so." 

Safti's  expression  suddenly  became  grim 
and  suspicious. 

"  Who  said  that?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Abdul.    Is  it  true?    Can  it  be  true?  " 

Her  cheeks  were  flushed.  She  spoke  almost 
with  violence,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 
Safti  seemed  to  stare  hard  into  the  corners  of 

313 


THE    PRINCESS 

the  little  room.  Perhaps  he  was  really  looking 
at  the  Princess.  At  length  he  said:  "  It  is 
true." 

"  I  will  give  any  price  you  ask  for  it,"  said 
the  Princess. 

"  You !  "  said  Saf ti.    "  But  you " 

Suddenly  he  lifted  his  lean  hands,  took  the 
face  of  the  Princess  between  them  quite  gent- 
ly, and  turned  it  towards  the  small  window. 
She  had  begun  to  tremble.  Holding  her  soft 
cheeks  with  his  brown  fingers,  Safti  remained 
motionless  for  a  long  time,  during  which  it 
seemed  to  the  Princess  that  he  was  looking 
away  from  her  at  some  distant  object.  She 
watched  his  frightful  and  surreptitious  eyes, 
that  never  told  the  truth,  she  heard  the  distant 
Arab's  everlasting  song,  and  her  dream  be- 
came a  nightmare.  At  last  Safti  dropped  his 
hands  and  said: 

"  It  may  be  that  some  day  you  will  need 
my  emerald." 

The  Princess  felt  as  if  at  that  moment  a 
bullet  entered  her  heart. 

"  Give  it  me — give  it  me! "  she  cried.  "  I 
am  rich.  I — 

"  I  do  not  sell  my  medicines,"  Safti  an- 
swered. '  Those  who  use  them  must  live  near 
me,  here  in  Tunis.  When  they  are  healed  they 
give  back  to  me  the  jewel  that  has  saved  them. 
But  you — you  live  far  off." 

With  the  swiftness  of  a  woman  the  Princess 
saw  that  persuasion  would  be  useless.  Safti's 

314 


AND    THE    JEWEL   DOCTOR 

face  looked  hard  as  brown  wood.  She  seemed 
to  recover  from  her  emotion,  and  said  quietly : 

"  At  least  you  will  let  me  see  the  emerald?  " 

Safti  went  to  a  small  bureau  that  stood  at 
the  back  of  the  room,  opened  one  of  its  draw- 
ers with  a  key  which  he  drew  from  beneath  his 
dingy  robe,  lifted  a  small  silver  box  carefully 
out,  returned  to  the  Princess,  and  put  the  box 
into  her  hand. 

"  Open  it,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed,  and  took  out  a  very  small  and 
antique  gold  ring,  in  which  was  set  a  rather 
dull  emerald.  Safti  drew  it  gently  from  her, 
and  put  it  upon  the  forefinger  of  her  left  hand. 
It  was  so  tiny  that  it  would  not  pass  beyond 
the  joint  of  the  finger,  and  it  looked  ugly  and 
odd  upon  the  Princess,  who  wore  many  beauti- 
ful rings.  Now  that  she  saw  it  she  felt  the 
superstition  that  had  sprung  from  her  terror 
dying  within  her.  Safti,  with  his  crooked  eyes, 
must  have  read  her  thought  in  her  face,  for 
he  said: 

"  The  Princess  is  wrong.  That  medicine 
could  cure  her.  The  one  who  wears  it  for  three 
months  in  each  year  can  never  be  blind." 

Taking  the  emerald  from  her  finger,  he 
touched  her  two  eyes  with  it,  and  it  seemed  to 
the  Princess  that,  as  he  did  so,  the  pain  she 
felt  in  them  withdrew.  Her  desire  for  the 
jewel  instantly  returned. 

"  Let  me  wear  it,"  she  said,  putting  forth 
all  her  charm  to  soften  the  jewel  doctor.  "  Let 

315 


THE    PRINCESS 

me  take  it  with  me  to  Russia.  I  will  make  you 
rich." 

Safti  shook  his  head. 

"  The  Princess  may  wear  it  here,  in  Tunis," 
he  replied.  "  Not  elsewhere." 

She  began  to  temporise,  hoping  to  conquer 
his  resistance  later. 

"  I  may  take  it  with  me  now?  "  she  asked. 

"  At  a  fee." 

"  I  will  pay  it." 

The  jewel  doctor  went  to  the  door,  and 
called  in  Abdul.  Five  minutes  later  the  Prin- 
cess passed  the  singing  Arab  at  the  corner  of 
the  street,  Rue  Ben-Ziad.  She  had  signed  a 
paper  pledging  herself  to  return  the  emerald 
to  Safti  at  the  end  of  forty-eight  hours,  and  to 
pay  125  francs  for  her  possession  of  it  during 
that  time.  And  she  wore  the  emerald  on  the 
forefinger  of  her  left  hand. 

On  the  following  morning  Madame  de 
Rosnikoff  said  to  the  Princess: 

"  I  hate  Tunis.  It  has  an  evil  climate.  The 
tea  here  is  too  strong,  and  I  feel  sure  the 
drains  are  bad.  Last  night  I  was  feverish.  I 
am  always  feverish  when  I  am  near  bad 
drains." 

The  Princess,  who  had  slept  well,  and  had 
waked  with  no  pain  in  her  eyes,  answered  these 
complaints  cheerily,  made  the  Countess  some 
tea  that  was  really  weak,  and  drove  her  out  in 
the  sunshine  to  see  Carthage.  The  Countess 
did  not  see  it,  because  there  is  no  longer  a 
Carthage.  She  went  to  bed  that  night  in  a 

316 


AND   THE   JEWEL   DOCTOR 

bad  humour,  and  again  complained  of  drains 
the  next  morning.  This  time  the  Princess  did 
not  heed  her,  for  she  was  thinking  of  the  hour 
when  she  must  return  the  emerald  to  Safti. 

"  What  an  ugly  ring  that  is,"  said  the  old 
Countess.  '  Where  did  you  get  it?  It  is  too 
small.  Why  do  you  wear  it?  " 

:<  I — I  bought  it  in  the  bazaars,"  answered 
the  Princess. 

"  My  dear,  you  wasted  your  money,"  said 
the  companion;  and  she  went  to  bed  with  an- 
other French  novel. 

That  afternoon  the  Princess  implored  Safti 
to  sell  her  the  emerald,  and  as  he  persistently 
declined  she  renewed  her  lease  of  it  for  another 
forty-eight  hours.  As  she  left  the  jewel  doc- 
tor's home  she  did  not  notice  that  he  spoke 
some  words  in  a  low  and  eager  voice  to  Abdul, 
pointing  towards  her  as  he  did  so.  Nor  did  she 
see  the  strange  bustle  of  varied  life  in  the 
street  as  she  walked  slowly  under  the  great 
Moorish  arch  of  the  Porte  de  France.  She 
was  deeply  thoughtful. 

Since  she  had  worn  the  ugly  ring  of  Safti 
she  had  suffered  no  pain  from  her  eyes,  and  a 
strange  certainty  had  gradually  come  upon 
her  that,  while  the  emerald  was  in  her  posses- 
sion, she  would  be  safe  from  the  terrible  disease 
of  which  she  had  so  long  lived  in  terror.  Yet 
Safti  would  not  let  her  have  the  ring.  And 
she  could  not  live  for  ever  in  Tunis.  Already 
she  had  prolonged  her  stay  abroad,  and  was 
due  in  Russia,  where  her  anxious  husband 

317 


THE   PRINCESS 

awaited  her.  She  knew  not  what  to  do.  Sud- 
denly an  idea  occurred  to  her.  It  made  her 
flush  red  and  tingle  with  shame.  She  glanced 
up,  and  saw  the  lustrous  eyes  of  Abdul  fixed 
intently  upon  her.  As  he  left  her  at  the  door 
of  the  hotel  he  said, 

"  The  Princess  will  stay  long  in  Tunis?  " 

"  Another  week  at  least,  Abdul,"  she  an- 
swered carelessly.  "  You  can  go  home  now.  I 
shall  not  want  you  any  more  to-day." 

And  she  walked  into  the  hotel  without  look- 
ing at  him  again.  When  she  was  in  her  room 
she  sent  for  a  list  of  the  steamers  sailing  daily 
from  Tunis  for  the  different  ports  of  Africa 
and  Europe.  Presently  she  came  to  the  bed- 
side of  Madame  de  RosnikofF. 

"  Countess,"  she  said,  "  you  are  no  better?  " 

"  How  can  I  be?  The  drains  are  bad,  and 
the  tea  here  is  too  strong." 

"  There  is  a  boat  that  leaves  for  Sicily  at 
midnight — for  Marsala.  Shall  we  go  in  her?  " 

The  old  lady  bounded  on  her  pillow. 

"  Straight  on  by  Italy  to  Russia?  "  she  cried 
joyfully. 

The  Princess  nodded.  A  fierce  excitement 
shone  in  her  pretty  eyes,  and  her  little  hands 
were  trembling  as  she  looked  down  at  the  dull 
emerald  of  Safti. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  the  Princess 
and  the  Countess  got  into  a  carriage,  drove  to 
the  edge  of  the  huge  salt  lake  by  which  Tunis 
lies,  and  went  on  board  the  Stella  d'ltalia. 

318 


AND    THE    JEWEL   DOCTOR 

The  sky  was  starless.  The  winds  were  still, 
and  it  was  very  dark.  As  the  ship  glided  out 
from  the  shore  the  old  Countess  hurried  below. 
But  the  Princess  remained  on  deck,  leaning 
upon  the  bulwark,  and  gazing  at  the  fading 
lights  of  the  city  where  Safti  dwelt.  Two 
flames  seemed  burning  in  her  heart,  a  fierce 
flame  of  joy,  a  fierce  flame  of  contempt — of 
contempt  for  herself.  For  was  she  not  a  com- 
mon thief?  She  looked  at  Safti's  ring  on  her 
finger,  and  flushed  scarlet  in  the  darkness. 
Yet  she  was  joyful,  triumphant,  as  she  heard 
the  beating  of  the  ship's  heart,  and  saw  the 
lights  of  Tunis  growing  fainter  in  the  distance, 
and  felt  the  onward  movement  of  the  Stella 
A'ltalia  through  the  night.  She  felt  herself 
nearer  to  Russia  with  each  throb  of  the  ma- 
chinery. And  from  Russia  she  would  expiate 
her  sin.  From  Russia  she  would  compensate 
Safti  for  his  loss.  The  lights  of  Tunis  grew 
fainter.  She  thought  of  the  open  sea. 

But  suddenly  she  felt  that  the  ship  was  slow- 
ing down.  The  engines  beat  more  feebly,  then 
ceased  to  beat.  The  ship  glided  on  for  a  mo- 
ment in  silence,  and  stopped.  A  cold  fear 
ran  over  the  Princess.  She  called  to  a  sailor. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "why  do  we  stop?  Is 
anything  wrong?  " 

He  pointed  to  some  lights  on  the  port  side. 

"  We  are  off  Hammam-Lif,  madame,"  he 
said.  '  We  are  going  to  lie  to  for  half-an- 
hour  to  take  in  cargo." 

To  the  Princess  that  half -hour  seemed  all 

319 


THE   PRINCESS 

eternity.  She  remained  upon  deck,  and  when- 
ever she  heard  the  splash  of  oars  as  a  boat  drew 
near,  or  the  guttural  sound  of  an  Arab  voice, 
she  trembled,  and,  staring  into  the  blackness, 
fancied  that  she  saw  the  tall  figure,  the  pointed 
head,  and  the  deformed  eyes  of  the  jewel  doc- 
tor. But  the  minutes  passed.  The  cargo  was 
all  got  on  board.  The  boats  drew  off.  And 
once  again  the  ship  shuddered  as  the  heart  of 
her  began  to  beat,  and  the  ebon  water  ran 
backward  from  her  prow. 

Then  the  Princess  was  glad.  She  laid  the 
hand  on  which  shone  Safti's  emerald  upon  the 
bulwark,  and  gazed  towards  the  sea,  turning 
her  back  upon  the  lights  of  Hammam-Lif. 
She  thought  of  safety,  of  Russia.  She  did 
not  hear  a  soft  step  drawing  near  upon  the 
deck  behind  her.  She  did  not  see  the  flash  of 
steel  descending  to  the  bulwark  on  which  her 
hand  was  laid. 

But  suddenly  the  horrible  cry  of  a  woman  in 
agony  rang  through  the  night.  It  was  in- 
stantly succeeded  by  a  splash  in  the  water,  as 
a  tall  figure  dived  over  the  vessel's  side. 

When  the  sun  rose  on  the  following  day 
over  the  minarets  of  Tunis  the  Stella  ftltalm, 
with  the  Princess  on  board,  was  far  out  at  sea. 

The  emerald  of  Safti  was  once  more  in  the 
little  house  in  the  Rue  Ben-Ziad. 

It  was  still  upon  the  Princess's  finger. 


320 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE 
MIRAGE 

ON  a  windy  night  of  Spring  I  sat  by  a 
great  fire  that  had  been  built  by  Moors 
on  a  plain  of  Morocco  under  the  shadow  of  a 
white  city,  and  talked  with  a  fellow-country- 
man, stranger  to  me  till  that  day.  We  had 
met  in  the  morning  in  a  filthy  alley  of  the  town, 
and  had  forgathered.  He  was  a  wanderer  for 
pleasure  like  myself,  and,  learning  that  he  was 
staying  in  a  dreary  hostelry  haunted  by  fever, 
I  invited  him  to  dine  in  my  camp,  and  to  pass 
the  night  in  one  of  the  small  peaked  tents  that 
served  me  and  my  Moorish  attendants  as 
home.  He  consented  gladly.  Dinner  was 
over — no  bad  one,  for  Moors  can  cook,  can 
even  make  delicious  caramel  pudding  in  desert 
places — and  Mohammed,  my  stalwart  valet  de 
chambre,  had  given  us  most  excellent  coffee. 
Now  we  smoked  by  the  great  fire,  looked  up  at 
the  marvellously  bright  stars,  and  told,  as  is 
the  way  of  travellers,  tales  of  our  wanderings. 
My  companion,  whom  I  took  at  first  to  be  a 
rather  ironic,  sceptical,  and  by  nature  unimag- 
inative globe-trotter — he  was  a  hard-looking, 
iron-grey  man  of  middle-age — related  the 

331 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

usual  tiger  story,  the  time-honoured  elephant 
anecdote,  and  a  couple  of  snake  yarns  of  no 
special  value,  and  I  was  beginning  to  fear  that 
I  should  get  little  entertainment  from  so  pro- 
saic a  sportsman,  when  I  chanced  to  mention 
the  desert. 

"  Ah!  "  said  my  guest,  taking  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  "  the  desert  is  the  strangest  thing 
in  nature,  as  woman  is  the  strangest  thing  in 
human  nature.  And  when  you  get  them  to- 
gether— desert  and  woman — by  Jove!" 

He  paused,  then  he  shot  a  keen  glance  at 
me. 

"  Ever  been  in  the  Sahara?  "  he  said. 

I  replied  in  the  affirmative,  but  added  that 
I  had  as  yet  only  seen  the  fringe  of  it. 

"  Biskra,  I  suppose,"  he  rejoined,  "  and  the 
nearest  oasis,  Sidi-Okba,  and  so  on?  " 

I  nodded.  I  saw  I  was  in  for  another  tale, 
and  anticipated  some  history  of  shooting  ex- 
ploits under  the  salt  mountain  of  El  Outaya. 

*  Well,"  he  continued,  "  I  know  the  Sahara 
pretty  fairly,  and  about  the  oddest  thing  I 
ever  could  believe  in  I  heard  of  and  believed 
in  there." 

"  Something  about  gazelle?  "  I  queried. 

"  Gazelle?     No — a  woman!  "  he  replied.. 

As  he  spoke  a  Moor  glided  out  of  the  windy 
darkness,  and  threw  an  armful  of  dry  reeds  on 
the  fire.  The  flames  flared  up  vehemently,  and 
I  saw  that  the  face  of  my  companion  had 
changed.  The  hardness  of  it  was  smoothed 

322 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

away.     Some  memory,  that  held  its  romance, 
sat  with  him. 

"  A   woman,"   he   repeated,   knocking   the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe  almost  sentimentally— 
"  more  than  that,  a  French  woman  of  Paris, 

with  the  nameless  charm, the  chic.,ihe But 

I'll  tell  you.  Some  years  ago  three  Parisians 
—a  man,  his  wife,  and  her  unmarried  sister,  a 
girl  of  eighteen,  with  an  angel  and  a  devil  in 
her  dark  beauty — came  to  a  great  resolve. 
They  decided  that  they  were  tired  of  the  Fran- 
cais,  sick  of  the  Bois,  bored  to  death  with  the 
boulevards,  that  they  wanted  to  see  for  them- 
selves the  famous  French  colonies  which  were 
for  ever  being  talked  about  in  the  Chamber. 
They  determined  to  travel.  No  sooner  was  the 
determination  come  to  than  they  were  off. 
Hotel  des  Colonies,  Marseilles;  steamboat,  Le 
General  Chanzy;  five  o'clock  on  a  splendid, 
sunny  afternoon — Algiers,  with  its  terraces, 
its  white  villas,  its  palms,  trees,  and  its 
Spahis!" 

"  But "  I  began. 

He  foresaw  my  objection. 
'  There  were  Spahis,  and  that's  a  point  of 
my  story.  Some  fete  was  on  in  the  town  while 
our  Parisians  were  there.  All  the  African 
troops  were  out — Zouaves,  chasseurs,  tirail- 
leurs. The  Governor  went  in  procession  to 
perform  some  ceremony,  and  in  front  of  his 
carriage  rode  sixteen  Spahis — probably  got  in 
from  that  desert  camp  of  theirs  near  El  Ou- 

323 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

taya.  All  this  was  long  before  the  Tsar  visited 
Paris,  and  our  Parisians  had  never  before  seen 
the  dashing  Spahis,  had  only  heard  of  them, 
of  their  magnificent  horses,  their  turbans  and 
flowing  Arab  robes,  their  gorgeous  figures, 
lustrous  eyes,  and  diabolic  horsemanship.  You 
know  how  they  ride?  No  cavalry  to  touch 
them — not  even  the  Cossacks!  Well,  our 
French  friends  were  struck.  The  unmarried 
sister,  more  especially,  was  bouleversee  by 
these  glorious  demons.  As  they  caracoled  be- 
neath the  balcony  on  which  she  was  leaning 
she  clapped  her  little  hands,  in  their  white  kid 
gloves,  and  threw  down  a  shower  of  roses. 
The  falling  flowers  frightened  the  horses. 
They  pranced,  bucked,  reared.  One  Spahi — 
a  great  fellow,  eyes  like  a  desert  eagle,  grand 
aquiline  profile — on  whom  three  roses  had 
dropped,  looked  up,  saw  mademoiselle — call 
her  Valerie — gazing  down  with  her  great, 
bright  eyes — they  were  deuced  fine  eyes,  by 
Jove! " 

"  You've  seen  her?  "  I  asked. 

"  —  and  flashed  a  smile  at  her  with  his 
white  teeth.  It  was  his  last  day  in  the  service. 
He  was  in  grand  spirits.  f  Mon  Dieu!  Mais 
quelles  dents!*  she  sang  out.  Her  people 
laughed  at  her.  The  Spahi  looked  at  her  again 
— not  smiling.  She  shrank  back  on  the  bal- 
cony. Then  his  place  was  taken  by  the  Gov- 
ernor— small  imperial,  chapeau  de  forme, 
evening  dress,  landau  and  pair.  Mademoiselle 

324: 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

was  desolee.  Why  couldn't  civilised  men  look 
like  Spahis?  Why  were  all  Parisians  com- 
monplace? Why — why?  Her  sister  and 
brother-in-law  called  her  the  savage  worship- 
per, and  took  her  down  to  the  cafe  on  the 
terrace  to  dine.  And  all  through  dinner 
mademoiselle  talked  of  the  beaux  Spahis — in 
the  plural,  with  a  secret  reservation  in  her 
heart.  After  Algiers  our  Parisians  went  by 
way  of  Constantine  to  Biskra.  Now  they  saw 
desert  for  the  first  time — the  curious  iron- 
grey,  velvety-brown,  and  rose-pink  moun- 
tains; the  nomadic  Arabs  camping  in  their 
earth-coloured  tents  patched  with  rags;  the 
camels  against  the  skyline;  the  everlasting 
sands,  broken  here  and  there  by  the  deep 
green  shadows  of  distant  oases,  where  the 
close-growing  palms,  seen  from  far  off,  give 
to  the  desert  almost  the  effect  that  clouds  give 
to  Cornish  waters.  At  Biskra  mademoiselle 
—oh!  what  she  must  have  looked  like  under 
the  mimosa-trees  before  the  Hotel  de 
1' Oasis  !- 

4  Then  you've  seen  her,"  I  began. 

" —  mademoiselle  became  enthusiastic  again, 
and,  almost  before  they  knew  it,  her  sister  and 
brother-in-law  were  committed  to  a  desert  ex- 
pedition, were  fitted  out  with  a  dragoman, 
tents,  mules — the  whole  show,  in  fact — and 
one  blazing  hot  day  found  themselves  out  in 
that  sunshine — you  know  it — with  Biskra  a 
green  shadow  on  that  sea,  the  mountains  be- 

325 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

hind  the  sulphur  springs  turning  from  bronze 
to  black-brown  in  the  distance,  and  the  table 
flatness  of  the  desert  stretching  ahead  of  them 
to  the  limits  of  the  world  and  the  judgment 
day." 

My  companion  paused,  took  a  flaming  reed 
from  the  fire,  put  it  to  his  pipe  bowl,  pulled 
hard  at  his  pipe — all  the  time  staring  straight 
before  him,  as  if,  among  the  glowing  logs,  he 
saw  the  caravan  of  the  Parisians  winding  on- 
ward across  the  desert  sands.  Then  he  turned 
to  me,  sighed,  and  said: 

"  YouVe  seen  mirage?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered. 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  in  mirage  the 
things  one  fancies  one  sees  generally  appear 
in  large  numbers — buildings  crowded  as  in 
towns,  trees  growing  together  as  in  woods, 
men  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  large  compa- 
nies?" 

My  experience  of  mirage  in  the  desert  was 
so,  and  I  acknowledged  it. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  in  a  mirage  a  solitary 
figure?  "  he  continued. 

I  thought  for  a  moment.  Then  I  replied 
in  the  negative. 

"  No  more  have  I,"  he  said.  "  And  I  believe 
it's  a  very  rare  occurrence.  Now  mark  the 
mirage  that  showed  itself  to  mademoiselle  on 
the  first  day  of  the  desert  journey  of  the  Paris- 
ians. She  saw  it  on  the  northern  verge  of  the 
oasis  of  Sidi-Okba,  late  in  the  afternoon.  As 

326 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

they  journeyed  Tahar,  their  dragoman — he 
had  applied  for  the  post,  and  got  it  by  the  de- 
sire of  mademoiselle,  who  admired  his  lithe 
bearing  and  gorgeous  aplomb — Tahar  sud- 
denly pulled  up  his  mule,  pointed  with  his 
brown  hand  to  the  horizon,  and  said  in  French : 

"'There  is  mirage!  Look!  There  is  the 
mirage  of  the  great  desert ! ' 

"  Our  Parisians,  filled  with  excitement, 
gazed  above  the  pointed  ears  of  their  beasts, 
over  the  shimmering  waste.  There,  beyond 
the  palms  of  the  oasis,  wrapped  in  a  mysteri- 
ous haze,  lay  the  mirage.  They  looked  at  it 
in  silence.  Then  Mademoiselle  cried,  in  her 
little  bird's  clear  voice : 

'  Mirage!    But  surely  he's  real?  ' 
'  What    does    mademoiselle    see? '    asked 
Tahar  quickly. 

"  '  Why,  a  sort  of  faint  landscape,  through 
which  a  man — an  Arab,  I  suppose — is  riding, 
towards  Sidi — what  is  it? — Sidi-Okba!  He's 
got  something  in  front  of  him,  hanging  across 
his  saddle.' 

"  Her  relations  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

" '  I  only  see  houses  standing  on  the  edge 
of  water,'  said  her  sister. 

'  And  I ! '  cried  the  husband. 
c  Houses  and  water,'  assented  Tahar.    '  It 
is  always  so  in  the  mirage  of  Sidi-Okba.' 

c  I  see  no  houses,  no  water,'  cried  made- 
moiselle, straining  her  eyes.  '  The  Arab  rides 
fast,  like  the  wind.  He  is  in  a  hurry.  One 

327 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

would  think  he  was  being  pursued.    Why,  now 
he's  gone ! ' 

"  She  turned  to  her  companions.  They  saw 
still  the  fairy  houses  of  the  mirage  standing 
in  the  haze  on  the  edge  of  the  fairy  water. 

"  *  But,'  mademoiselle  said  impatiently, 
'  there's  nothing  at  all  now — only  sand.' 

'  Mademoiselle  dreams,'  said  Tahar.  '  The 
mirage  is  always  there.' 

'  They  rode  forward.  That  night  they 
camped  near  Sidi-Okba.  At  dinner,  while  the 
stars  came  out,  they  talked  of  the  mirage,  and 
mademoiselle  still  insisted  that  it  was  a  mirage 
of  a  horseman  bearing  something  before  him 
on  his  saddle-bow,  and  riding  as  if  for  life. 
And  Tahar  said  again: 

"  '  Mademoiselle  dreams! ' 

"  As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  her  with  a  mys- 
terious intentness,  which  she  noticed.  That 
night,  in  her  little  camp-bed,  round  which  the 
desert  winds  blew  mildly,  she  did  indeed  dream. 
And  her  dream  was  of  the  magic  forms  that 
ride  on  magic  horses  through  mirage. 

"  The  next  day,  at  dawn,  the  caravan  of  the 
Parisians  went  on  its  way,  winding  farther 
into  the  desert.  In  leaving  Sidi-Okba  they  left 
behind  them  the  last  traces  of  civilisation — the 
French  man  and  woman  who  keep  the  auberge 
in  the  orange  garden  there.  To-day,  as  they 
journeyed,  a  sense  of  deep  mystery  flowed 
upon  the  heart  of  mademoiselle.  She  felt  that 
she  was  a  little  cockle-shell  of  a  boat  which,  ac- 

328 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

customed  hitherto  only  to  the  Seine,  now  set 
sail  upon  a  mighty  ocean.  The  fear  of  the 
Sahara  came  upon  her." 

My  companion  paused.  His  face  was  grave, 
almost  stern. 

"  And  her  relations?  "  I  asked.  "  Did  they 
feel " 

"Haven't -an  idea  what  they  felt,"  he  an- 
swered curtly. 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  mademoiselle 


"  You'll  understand  at  the  end  of  the  story. 
As  they  journeyed  in  the  sun  across  the  end- 
less flats — for  the  mountains  had  vanished 
now,  and  nothing  broke  the  level  of  the  sand — 
mademoiselle's  gaiety  went  from  her.  Silent 
was  the  lively,  chattering  tongue  that  knew  the 
jargon  of  cities,  the  gossip  of  the  Plage.  She 
was  oppressed.  Tahar  rode  close  at  her  side. 
He  seemed  to  have  taken  her  under  his  special 
protection.  Far  before  them  rode  the  attend- 
ants, chanting  deep  love  songs  in  the  sun.  The 
sound  of  those  songs  seemed  like  the  sound  of 
the  great  desert  singing  of  its  wild  and  savage 
love  to  the  heart  of  mademoiselle.  At  first  her 
brother-in-law  and  sister  bantered  her  on  her 
silence,  but  Tahar  stopped  them,  with  a  cu- 
rious authority. 

"  *  The  desert  speaks  to  mademoiselle,'  he 
said  in  her  hearing.  *  Let  her  listen.' 

"  He  watched  her  continually  with  his  huge 
eyes,  and  she  did  not  mind  his  glance,  though 

329 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

she  began  to  feel  irritated  and  restless  under 
the  observation  of  her  relations. 

"  Towards  noon  Tahar  again  described  mi- 
rage. As  he  pointed  it  out  he  stared  fixedly 
at  mademoiselle. 

"  The  two  other  Parisians  exclaimed  that 
they  saw  forest  trees,  a  running  stream,  a  veri- 
table oasis,  where  they  longed  to  rest  and  eat 
their  dejeuner. 

6  And  mademoiselle?  '  said  Tahar.    '  What 
does  she  see? ' 

"  She  was  gazing  into  the  distance.  Her 
face  was  very  pale,  and  for  a  moment  she  did 
not  answer.  Then  she  said: 

"  '  I  see  again  the  Arab  bearing  the  burden 
before  him  on  the  saddle.  He  is  much  clearer 
than  yesterday.  I  can  almost  see  his  face ' 

"  She  paused.    She  was  trembling. 

" '  But  I  cannot  see  what  he  carries.  It 
seems  to  float  on  the  wind,  like  a  robe,  or  a 
woman's  dress.  Ah!  mon  Dieu!  how  fast  he 
rides ! ' 

"  She  stared  before  her  as  if  fascinated,  and 
following  with  her  eyes  some  rapidly-moving 
object.  Suddenly  she  shut  her  eyes. 

"  '  He's  gone! '  she  said. 

"  '  And  now — mademoiselle  sees?  '  said 
Tahar. 

"  She  opened  her  eyes. 

"  '  Nothing.' 

"  *  Yet  the  mirage  is  still  there,'  he  said. 

" '  Valerie,'  cried  her  sister,  '  are  you  mad 
330 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

that  you  see  what  no  one  else  can  see,  and  can- 
not see  what  all  else  see?  " 

"  '  Am  I  mad,  Tahar? '  she  said  gravely,  al- 
most timidly,  to  the  dragoman. 

"  And  the  fear  of  the  Sahara  came  again 
upon  her. 

" '  Mademoiselle  sees  what  she  must,'  he 
answered.  '  The  desert  speaks  to  the  heart  of 
mademoiselle.' 

"  That  night  there  was  moon.  Mademoi- 
selle could  not  sleep.  She  lay  in  her  narrow 
bed  and  thought  of  the  figure  in  the  mirage, 
while  the  moonbeams  stole  in  between  the  tent 
pegs  to  keep  her  company.  She  thought  of 
second  sight,  of  phantoms,  and  of  wraiths. 
Was  this  riding  Arab,  whom  she  alone  could 
see,  a  phantom  of  the  Sahara,  mysteriously 
accompanying  the  caravan,  and  revealing  him- 
self to  her  through  the  medium  of  the  mirage 
as  if  in  a  magic  mirror?  She  turned  restlessly 
upon  her  pillow,  saw  the  naughty  moonbeams, 
got  up,  and  went  softly  to  the  tent  door.  All 
the  desert  was  bathed  in  light.  She  gazed  out 
as  a  mariner  gazes  out  over  the  sea.  She 
heard  jackals  yelping  in  the  distance,  peevish 
in  their  insomnia,  and  fancied  their  voices  were 
the  voices  of  desert  demons.  As  she  stood 
there  she  thought  of  the  figure  in  the  mirage, 
and  wondered  if  mirage  ever  rises  at  night — 
if,  by  chance,  she  might  see  it  now.  And, 
while  she  stood  wondering,  far  away  across 
the  sand  there  floated  up  a  silvery  haze,  like 

331 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

a  veil  of  spangled  tissue — exquisite  for  a  ball 
robe,  she  said  long  after! — and  in  this  haze 
she  saw  again  the  phantom  Arab  galloping 
upon  his  horse.  But  now  he  was  clear  in  the 
moon.  Furiously  he  rode,  like  a  thing  de- 
mented in  a  dream,  and  as  he  rode  he  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  he  feared  pur- 
suit. Mademoiselle  could  see  his  fierce  eyes, 
like  the  eyes  of  a  desert  eagle  that  stares  un- 
winking at  the  glaring  African  sun.  He 
urged  on  his  fleet  horse.  She  could  hear  now 
the  ceaseless  thud  of  its  hoofs  upon  the  hard 
sand  as  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer.  She  could 
see  the  white  foam  upon  its  steaming  flanks, 
and  now  at  last  she  knew  that  the  burden  which 
the  Arab  bore  across  his  saddle  and  supported 
with  his  arms  was  a  woman.  Her  robe  flew 
out  upon  the  wind;  her  dark,  loose  hair 
streamed  over  the  breast  of  the  horseman ;  her 
face  was  hidden  against  his  heart;  but  made- 
moiselle saw  his  face,  uttered  a  cry,  and 
shrank  back  against  the  canvas  of  the  tent. 

"  For  it  was  the  face  of  the  Spahi  who  had 
ridden  in  the  procession  of  the  Governor — of 
the  Spahi  to  whom  she  had  thrown  the  roses 
from  the  balcony  of  Algiers. 

"  As  she  cried  out  the  mirage  faded,  the 
Arab  vanished,  the  thud  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
died  in  her  ears,  and  Tahar,  the  dragoman, 
glided  round  the  tent,  and  stood  before  her. 
His  eyes  gleamed  in  the  moonlight  like  ebon 
jewels. 

332 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

'  Hush ! '  he  whispered,  *  mademoiselle  sees 
the  mirage? ' 

"  Mademoiselle  could  not  speak.  She  stared 
into  the  eyes  of  Tahar,  and  hers  were  dilated 
with  wonder. 

"  He  drew  nearer  to  her. 

'  Mademoiselle  has  seen  again  the  horse- 
man and  his  burden.' 

"  She  bowed  her  head.  All  things  seemed 
dream-like  to  her.  Tahar's  voice  was  low  and 
monotonous,  and  sounded  far  away. 

"  '  It  is  fate,'  he  said.  He  paused,  gazing 
upon  her. 

*  In  the  tents  they  all  sleep,'  he  mur- 
mured. '  Even  the  watchman  sleeps,  for  I 
have  given  him  a  powder  of  hashish,  and 
hashish  gives  long  dreams — long  dreams.' 

"  From  beneath  his  robe  he  drew  a  small 
box,  opened  it,  and  showed  to  mademoiselle  a 
dark  brown  powder,  which  he  shook  into  a  tiny 
cup  of  water. 

'  Mademoiselle  shall  drink,  as  the  watch- 
man has  drunk,'  he  said — '  shall  drink  and 
dream.' 

"  He  held  the  cup  to  her  lips,  and  she,  fas- 
cinated by  his  eyes,  as  by  the  eyes  of  a  mes- 
merist, could  not  disobey  him.  She  swallowed 
the  hashish,  swayed,  and  fell  forward  into  his 
arms. 

"  A  moment  later,  across  the  spaces  of  the 
desert,  whitened  by  the  moon,  rode  the  figure 
mademoiselle  had  seen  in  the  mirage.  Upon 

333 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

his  saddle  he  bore  a  dreaming  woman.  And  in 
the  ears  of  the  woman  through  all  the  night 
beat  the  thunderous  music  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
spurning  the  desert  sand.  Mademoiselle  had 
taken  her  place  in  the  vision  which  she  no 
longer  saw." 

My  companion  paused.  His  pipe  had  gone 
out.  He  did  not  relight  it,  but  sat  looking  at 
me  in  silence. 

'The  Spahi?"Iasked. 

"  Had  claimed  the  giver  of  the  roses." 

"  And  Tahar? " 

"  The  shots  he  fired  after  the  Spahi  missed 
fire.  Yet  Tahar  was  a  notable  shot." 

"  A  strange  tale,"  I  said.  "  How  did  you 
come  to  hear  it?  " 

"  A  year  ago  I  penetrated  very  far  into  the 
Sahara  on  a  sporting  expedition.  One  day  I 
came  upon  an  encampment  of  nomads.  The 
story  was  told  me  by  one  of  them  as  we  sat  in 
the  low  doorway  of  an  earth-coloured  tent  and 
watched  the  sun  go  down." 

"  Told  you  by  an  Arab?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  By  whom,  then?  " 

"  By  a  woman  with  a  clear  little  bird's  voice, 
with  an  angel  and  a  devil  in  her  dark  beauty, 
a  woman  with  the  gesture  of  Paris — the  grace, 
the  diablerie  of  Paris." 

Light  broke  on  me. 

"  By  mademoiselle!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"Pardon,"  he  answered;  "by  madame." 
334 


THE    FIGURE    IN    THE    MIRAGE 

"  She  was  married?  " 

"  To  the  figure  in  the  mirage;  and  she  was 
content." 

"Content!"  I  cried. 

"  Content  with  her  two  little  dark  children 
dancing  before  her  in  the  twilight,  content 
when  the  figure  of  the  mirage  galloped  at 
evening  across  the  plain,  shouting  an  Eastern 
love  song,  with  a  gazelle — instead  of  a  woman 
— slung  across  his  saddle-bow.  Did  I  not  say 
that,  as  the  desert  is  the  strangest  thing  in 
nature,  so  a  woman  is  the  strangest  thing  in 
human  nature?  Which  heart  is  most  mys- 
terious? " 

"  Its  heart? "  I  said. 

"  Or  the  heart  of  mademoiselle?  " 

"  I  give  the  palm  to  the  latter." 

"  And  I,"  he  answered,  taking  off  his  wide- 
brimmed  hat — "  I  gave  it  when  I  saluted  her 
as  madame  before  the  tent  door,  out  there  in 
the  great  desert." 


335 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER    DAY 

SAFTI  is  a  respectable,  one-eyed  married 
man  who  lives  in  a  brown  earth  house 
in  the  Sahara  Desert.  He  has  a  wife  and 
five  children,  and  in  winter  he  works  for  his 
living  and  theirs.  When  the  morning  dawns, 
and  the  great  red  sun  rises  above  the  rim  of 
the  wide  and  wonderful  land  which  is  the  only 
land  that  Safti  knows,  he  wraps  his  white 
burnous  around  him,  pulls  his  hood  up  over 
his  closely-shaven  head,  rolls  and  lights  his 
cigarette,  and  sets  forth  to  his  equivalent  of 
an  office.  This  is  the  white  arcade  of  a  hotel 
where  unbelieving  dogs  of  travellers  come  in 
winter.  I  am  an  unbelieving  dog  of  a  trav- 
eller, and  I  come  there  in  winter,  and  Safti 
comes  there  for  me.  I,  in  fact,  am  Safti's 
profession.  By  me,  and  others  like  me,  he 
lives.  For  a  consideration  he  shows  me  round 
the  market,  which  I  knew  by  heart  six -years 
ago,  and  takes  me  up  the  mosque  tower,  from 
which  I  gazed  over  the  flying  pigeons  and  the 
swaying  palms  when  Safti  was  comparatively 
young  and  frisky.  Together  we  visit  the 
gazelles  in  their  pretty  garden,  and  the  Caid's 

337 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER   DAY 

Mill,  from  which  one  sees  the  pink  and  purple 
mountains  of  the  Aures.  We  ride  to  the  Sul- 
phur Baths,  we  drive  to  Sidi-Okba.  We  take 
our  dejeuner  out  to  the  yellow  sand  dunes,  and 
we  sip  our  coffee  among  the  keef  smokers 
in  Hadj's  painted  cafe.  We  listen  to  the 
songs  of  the  negro  troubadour,  and  we  smile 
at  Algia's  dancing  when  the  silver  moon  comes 
up  and  the  Kabyle  dogs  round  the  nomads' 
tents  begin  their  serenades.  And  then  I  give 
Safti  five  francs  and  my  blessing,  and  he  bids 
me  "Bonne  nuit!"  and  his  ghostly  figure  is 
lost  in  the  black  shadows  of  the  palm-trees. 

Oh,  Safti  works  hard,  very  hard  in  winter. 
The  other  day  I  asked  him:  "Don't  you  get 
exhausted,  Safti,  with  all  this  exertion  to  keep 
the  Sahara  home  together?  You  are  getting 
on  in  years  now." 

"Ah  yes,  Sidi;  I  am  already  thirty-two, 
alas!" 

He  was  thirty-five  when  I  first  met  him ;  but 
he  is  as  clever  at  subtraction  as  a  London 
beauty. 

"  Good  heavens !  So  much !  But,  then, 
how  can  you  keep  up  the  wear  and  tear  of  this 
tumultuous  life?  You  must  have  an  iron 
strength.  Such  work  as  you  do  would  break 
down  an  American  millionaire." 

Safti  raised  his  one  dark  eye  piously  towards 
Allah's  dwelling. 

"  Sidi,  I  must  labour  for  my  children.  But 
in  the  summer,  when  you  and  all  the  travellers 

338 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER   DAY 

are  gone  from  the  Sahara  to  your  fogs  and 
the  darkness  of  your  days,  I  take  my  little 
holiday." 

'  Your  holiday !     But  is  it  long  enough?  " 

"  It  lasts  for  only  five  months,  Sidi;  but 
it  is  enough  for  me.  I  am  strong  as  the 
lion." 

I  gazed  at  him  with  an  admiration  I  could 
not  repress.  There  was,  indeed,  something  of 
the  hero  about  this  simple-minded  Saharaman. 
We  were  at  the  edge  of  the  oasis,  in  a  remote 
place  looking  towards  the  quivering  mirage 
which  guards  dead  Okba's  tomb.  A  tiny 
earthen  house,  with  a  flat  terrace  ending  in 
the  jagged  bank  of  the  Oued  Biskra,  was 
crouched  here  in  the  shade.  From  it  emerged 
a  pleasant  scent  of  coffee.  Suddenly  Safti's 
bare  legs  began  to  "  give."  I  felt  it  would  be 
cruel  to  push  on  farther.  We  entered  the 
house,  seated  ourselves  luxuriously  upon  a 
baked  divan  of  mud,  set  our  slippers  on  a  reed 
mat,  rolled  our  cigarettes,  and  commanded  our 
coffee.  When  a  Kabyle  boy  with  a  rosebud 
stuck  under  his  turban  had  brought  it  lan- 
guidly, I  said  to  Saf  ti : 

"  And  now,  Saf  ti,  tell  me  how  you  pass  your 
little  holiday." 

Safti  smiled  gently  in  his  beard.  He  was 
glad  to  have  this  moment  of  repose. 

"  Each  day  is  like  its  brother,  Sidi,"  he  re- 
sponded, gazing  out  through  the  low  doorway 
to  the  shimmering  Sahara. 

339 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER   DAY 

"  Then  tell  me  how  you  pass  a  summer  day." 

The  coif  ee  nerved  him  to  this  stubborn  ex- 
ertion, and  he  spoke. 

"  Sahah,  Sidi." 

"  Merci." 

We  sipped. 

"A  day  in  summer,  Sidi,  when  the  great 
heats  begin  in  June?  Well,  at  five  in  the 
morning  I  get  up— 

"  And  light  the  fire,"  I  murmured  mechan- 
ically. 

The  one  eye  stared  in  blank  amazement. 

"Proceed,  Safti.  You  get  up  at  five. 
That  is  very  early." 

"  The  sun  rises  at  a  quarter  to  five." 

"To  call  you.     Well?" 

"  I  eat  three  fresh  figs,  and  sometimes 
four.  I  then  mount  upon  my  mule,  and  I  ride 
very  quietly  into  Biskra  to  take  coffee  with  my 
friends." 

"  That  is  half-an-hour's  exercise?  " 

"  About  half-an-hour.  After  taking  coffee 
with  my  friends  we  play  at  dominoes.  It  is 
forbidden  for  the  Arabs  to  play  at  cards  in 
Biskra.  I  remain  in  the  cafe  at  the  cor- 
ner  " 

"  I  know — by  the  Garden  of  the  Gazelles !  " 

" — till  eleven  o'clock,  at  which  time  I  again 
mount  upon  my  mule,  and  return  quietly  to 
my  home.  When  I  reach  there  I  eat  with  my 
wife  and  children  sour  milk,  bread,  and  dates 
from  my  palm-trees  which  I  have  kept  from 

340 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER   DAY 

the  autumn.  At  twelve  we  all  go  to  bed  to- 
gether in  a  black  room." 

"  A  black  room?  " 

".We  fear  the  flies." 

"  I  see." 

'  Till  four  in  the  afternoon  I,  my  wife,  and 
my  children  sleep  in  the  black  room.  At  that 
hour  I  rise  once  more,  and  go  quietly  to  the 
Cafe  Maure  in  old  Biskra,  near  my  house.  I 
play  cards  there  for  five  coffees  till  seven 
o'clock.  At  seven  the  mosquitoes  arrive,  and 
prevent  us  from  playing  any  more." 

"  How  intrusive!     Always  at  seven?  " 

"  Always  at  seven.  I  then  walk  very  quietly 
with  my  friends  to  the  end  of  the  oasis." 

'  To  the  Tombuctou  road?  " 

'  Yes,  Sidi ;  to  get  the  air.  We  come  back 
by  the  same  road  quietly,  and  I  go  to  my  house, 
and  eat  a  cold  kous-kous  with  my  wife  and 
children.  After  this  I  return  to  the  cafe  and 
play  ronda  till  one  o'clock." 

"  One  o'clock  at  night?  " 

'  Yes.  At  one  o'clock  I  go  with  my  friends 
very  quietly  to  bathe  in  the  stream  beneath  the 
wall  near  the  mosque.  We  stay  in  the  water 
for,  perhaps,  an  hour,  and  when  we  come  out 
we  drink  lagmi." 

<  What's  lagmi?" 

"  Palm  wine.  Then  at  three  o'clock  I  go  to 
my  home,  mount  upon  the  roof  quietly  with  my 
wife  and  children,  and  sleep  till  dawn." 

"  And  you  do  this  for  five  months?  " 

341 


SAFTI'S    SUMMER   DAY 

"  For  five  months,  Sidi." 

"  And— and  your  wife,  Safti?  " 

I  felt  that  I  was  very  indiscreet;  but  Safti 
is  good-natured,  and  has  bought  quite  a  num- 
ber of  palm-trees  out  of  his  savings  when  with 
me. 

"My  wife,  Sidi?" 
'  What  does  she  do  all  the  time?  " 

"  She  remains  quietly  in  my  house." 

"  She  never  goes  out?  " 

"  Never,  except  upon  the  roof  to  take  a  lit- 
tle air." 

'  Doesn't  she  get  rather  bor— 

The  one  eye  began  to  look  remarkably 
vague. 

"  And  you  find  five  months  of  this  life  a 
sufficient  rest  in  the  course  of  the  year?  " 

Safti  smiled  at  me  with  resignation. 

"  I  cannot  take  more,  Sidi;  I  am  not  a  rich 
Englishman." 

'Well,  Safti,  you  must  make  the  best  of 
your  fate.  It  is  the  will  of  Allah  that  you 
should  toil." 

"  Shal-lah!  I  will  take  another  coffee, 
Sidi." 

"Larbi!" 

I  called  the  Kabyle  boy. 


342 


SMAIN 

"When  the  African  is  in  love  he  plays  upon  the  pipe." 

SAHARA  SAYING. 

FAR  away  in  the  desert  I  heard  the  sound 
of  a  flute,  pure  sound  in  the  pure  air,  del- 
icate, sometimes  almost  comic  with  the  comi- 
cality of  a  child  who  bends  women  to  kisses 
and  to  nonsense-words.  We  had  passed 
through  the  sandstorm,  Safti  and  I,  over  the 
wastes  of  saltpetre,  and  come  into  a  land  of 
palm  gardens  where  there  was  almost  breath- 
less calm.  The  feet  of  the  camels  paddled 
over  the  soft  brown  earth  of  the  narrow  alleys 
between  the  brown  earth  walls,  and  we  looked 
down  to  right  and  left  into  the  shady  enclosed 
spaces,  seamed  with  water  rills,  dotted  with  lit- 
tle pools  of  pale  yellow  water,  and  saw  always 
giant  palms,  with  wrinkled  trunks  and  tufted, 
deep  green  foliage,  brooding  in  their  squad- 
rons over  the  dimness  they  had  made.  The 
activity  of  man  might  be  discerned  here  in  the 
regularity  of  the  artificial  rills,  the  ordered 
placing  of  the  trees,  each  of  which,  too,  stood 
on  its  oval  hump.  But  no  man  was  seen;  no 
flat-roofed  huts  appeared;  no  robe,  pale  blue 
or  white,  fluttered  among  the  shadows;  no  dog 

343 


SMAIN 

blinked  in  the  golden  patches  of  the  sun — 
only  the  sound  of  the  flute  came  to  us  from 
some  hidden  place  ceaselessly,  wild  and  ro- 
mantic, full  of  an  odd  coquetry,  and  of  an 
absurdity  that  was  both  uncivilised  and  touch- 
ing. 

I  stopped  to  listen,  and  looked  round,  search- 
ing the  vistas  between  the  palms. 

"Where  does  it  come  from?"  I  asked  of 
Safti. 

His  one  eye  blinked  languidly. 

"  From  some  gardener  among  the  trees. 
All  who  dwell  in  Sidi-Matou  are  gardeners." 

The  persistent  flute  gave  forth  a  shower  of 
notes  that  were  like  drops  of  water  flung  softly 
in  our  faces. 

"  He  is  in  love,"  added  Safti  with  a  slight 
yawn. 

;<  How  do  you  know?  " 

'  When  the  African  is  in  love  he  plays  upon 
the  pipe.  That  is  what  they  say  in  the  Sa- 
hara." 

"  And  you  think  he  is  alone  under  some 
palm-tree  playing  for  himself?  " 

"  Yes;  he  is  quite  alone.  If  he  is  much  in 
love  he  will  play  all  day,  and,  perhaps,  all 
night  too." 

"  But  she  cannot  hear  him." 

"  That  does  not  matter.  He  plays  for  his 
own  heart,  and  his  own  heart  can  hear." 

I  listene^d.  Since  Safti  had  spoken  the 
music  meant  more  to  me.  I  tried  to  read  the 

344  » 


SMAIN 

player's  heart  in  the  endless  song  it  made. 
Trills,  twitterings,  grace  notes,  little  runs  up- 
ward ending  in  the  air — surely  it  was  a  boy's 
heart,  and  not  unhappy. 

"  It  is  coming  nearer,"  I  said. 

"Yes.     Ah,itisSmain!" 

Safti's  one  eye  is  sharp.  I  had  seen  no  one. 
But  as  he  spoke  a  tall  youth  in  a  single  white 
garment  glided  into  my  view,  his  eyes  bent 
down,  his  brown  fingers  fluttering  on  a  long 
reed  flute  covered  with  red  arabesques.  His 
feet  were  bare,  and  he  moved  slowly. 

Safti  hailed  him  with  the  accented  violence 
peculiar  to  the  Arabs.  He  stopped  playing, 
looked,  and  smiled  all  over  his  young  face. 
In  a  moment  he  was  on  our  side  of  the  earth 
wall,  and  talking  busily,  staring  at  me  the  while 
with  unabashed  curiosity.  For  few  strangers 
come  to  Sidi-Amrane,  and  Smain  had  never 
wandered  far. 

'  What  does  he  say? "  I  asked  of  Safti. 

"  I  tell  him  we  shall  be  at  Touggourt  to- 
morrow night,  and  shall  stay  there  a  week. 
He  answers  that  his  heart  is  there  with 
Oreida." 

"  What!  Does  his  lady-love  live  at  Toug- 
gourt?" 

"  Yes;  she  is  a  dancer." 

Smain  smiled.  He  did  not  understand 
French,  but  he  knew  we  were  speaking  of  his 
love  affair,  and  he  was  not  afflicted  with  shy- 
ness. As  he  accompanied  us  to  the  village  he 

34-5 


SMAIN 

played  again,  and  I  read  his  nature  in  the  soft 
sounds  of  his  flute. 

All  that  day  he  stayed  with  us,  and  nearly 
all  that  day  he  played.  Even  when  he  guided 
me  through  the  village,  where,  between  ter- 
raced houses,  pretty  children — the  girls  in  deep 
purple,  with  yellow  flowers  stuck  in  their  left 
nostrils,  the  boys  in  white — danced  with  a  bois- 
terous grace  round  brushwood  fires,  his  flute 
was  at  his  lips,  and  his  fingers  fluttered  cease- 
lessly. And  as  night  drew  on  the  music  was 
surely  more  amorous,  and  I  seemed  to  see 
Oreida  drawing  near  over  the  sands. 

Smain  was  but  sixteen,  tall  and  slim  as  a 
reed,  with  a  poetic  face  and  lustrous,  languid 
eyes.  I  imagined  Oreida  a  child  too — one  of 
those  flowers  of  the  desert  that  blossom  early 
and  fade  ere  noontide  comes.  Sometimes  such 
flowers  are  very  beautiful.  As  I  heard  the 
flute  of  Smain  in  the  pale  yellow  twilight  I 
knew  that  Oreida  was  beautiful — with  one  of 
those  exquisite,  lithe  figures,  whose  movements 
make  a  song;  with  long,  narrow  dark  eyes, 
mysterious  pools  of  light  and  shadow;  with 
thick  hair  falling  loosely  round  a  low,  broad 
forehead;  and  perfect  little  hands,  made  for 
the  dance  of  the  hands  that  the  Bedouin  loves 
so  well. 

All  this  I  knew  from  the  sound  of  Smain's 
flute.  I  told  it  to  Safti,  and  bade  him  ask 
Smain  if  it  were  not  true. 

Smain's  reply  was: 

346 


SMAIN 

"She  is  more  beautiful  than  that;  she  is  like 
the  young  gazelle,  and  like  the  first  day  after 
the  fast  of  Ramadan." 

Then  he  played  once  more  while  the  moon 
rose  over  the  palm  gardens,  and  Safti,  lighting 
his  pipe  of  keef  with  tender  deliberateness,  re- 
marked placidly: 

"He  would  like  to  come  with  us  to  Toug- 
gourt  and  to  die  there  at  Orei'da's  feet,  but  his 
father,  S  aid-ben- Koui'dar,  wishes  him  to  re- 
main at  Sidi-Matou  and  to  pack  dates.  He  is 
young,  and  must  obey.  Therefore  he  is  sad." 

The  smoke  rose  up  in  a  cloud  round  Smain 
and  his  flute,  and  now  I  thought  that,  indeed, 
there  was  a  wild  pathos  in  the  music.  The 
moon  went  up  the  sky,  and  threw  silver  on  the 
palms.  The  gay  cries  from  the  village  died 
down.  The  gardeners  lay  upon  the  earth 
divans  under  the  palmwood  roofs,  and  slept. 
And  at  last  Smain  bade  us  good-bye.  I  saw 
his  white  figure  glide  across  the  great  open 
space  that  the  moon  made  white  as  it  was.  And 
when  the  shadows  took  him  I  still  heard  the 
faint  sound  of  his  flute,  calling  to  his  heart 
and  to  the  distant  Oreida  through  the  magical 
stillness  of  the  night. 

The  next  day  we  reached  Touggourt,  and  in 
the  evening  I  went  with  Safti  and  the  Caid 
of  the  Nomads  to  the  great  cafe  of  the 
dancers  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  At  the 
door  Arab  soldiers  were  lounging.  The  pipes 
squealed  within  like  souls  in  torment.  In  the 

347 


SMAIN 

square  bonfires  were  blazing  fiercely,  and  the 
whole  desert  seemed  to  throb  with  beaten 
drums.  Within  the  cafe  was  a  crowd  of 
Arabs,  real  nomads,  some  in  rags,  some  richly 
dressed,  all  gravely  attentive  to  the  dancers, 
who  entered  from  a  court  on  the  left,  round 
which  their  rooms  were  built  in  terraces,  and 
danced  in  pairs  between  the  broad  divans. 

"  Tell  me  when  .Oreida  comes,"  I  said  to 
Safti,  while  the  Caid  spread  forth  his  ample 
skirts,  and  turned  a  cigarette  in  his  immense 
black  fingers. 

The  dancers  came  and  went.  They  were 
amazing  trollops,  painted  until,  like  the  pic- 
ture of  Balzac's  madman,  they  were  chaotic, 
a  mere  mess  of  frantic  colours.  Not  for  these, 
I  thought,  did  Smain  play  his  flute.  The  time 
wore  on.  I  grew  drowsy  in  the  keef -laden  air, 
despite  the  incessant  uproar  of  the  pipes. 
Suddenly  I  started — Safti  had  touched  me. 

"  There  is  Oreida,  Sidi." 

I  looked,  and  saw  a  lonely  dancer  entering 
from  the  court,  large,  weary,  crowned  with 
gold,  tufted  with  feathers,  wrinkled,  with 
greedy,  fatigued  eyes,  and  hands  painted 
blood-red.  She  was  like  an  idol  in  its  dotage. 
Over  her  spreading  bosom  streamed  multi- 
tudes of  golden  coins,  and  many  jewels  shone 
upon  her  wrists,  her  arms,  her  withered  neck. 
She  advanced  slowly,  as  if  bored,  until  she  was 
in  the  midst  of  the  crowd.  Then  she  wriggled, 
stretched  forth  her  hands,  slowly  stamped  her 

348 


SMAIN 

feet,  and  promenaded  to  and  fro,  occasionally 
revolving  like  a  child's  top  that  is  on  the  verge 
of  "running  down." 

"  That  is  not  Oreida,"  I  said  to  Safti,  smil- 
ing at  his  absurd  mistake.  For  this  was  the 
oldest  and  ugliest  dancer  of  them  all. 

"  Indeed,  Sidi,  it  is.     Ask  the  Caid." 

I  asked  that  enormous  potentate,  who  was 
devouring  the  withered  lady  with  his  eyes.  He 
wagged  his  head  in  assent.  Just  then  the 
dancer  paused  before  us,  and  thrusting  for- 
ward her  greasy  forehead,  enveloped  us  with 
a  sphinx-like  smirk.  As  I  hastily  pressed 
a  two-franc  piece  above  her  eyebrows  Safti  ad- 
dressed her  animatedly  in  Arabic.  I  caught 
the  word  "Smain."  The  lady  smiled,  and 
made  a  guttural  reply ;  then,  with  a  somnolent 
wink  at  me,  she  waddled  onward,  flapping  the 
blood-red  hands  and  stamping  heavily  upon  the 
earthen  floor. 

"  Smain  loves  that! "  I  said  to  Safti. 

"  Yes,  Sidi.  Oreida  is  famous,  and  very 
rich.  She  has  houses  and  many  palm-trees, 
and  she  is  much  respected  by  the  other 
dancers." 

A  week  later  Safti  and  I  were  again  at  Sidi- 
Matou,  on  our  way  homeward  through  the 
desert.  The  moon  was  at  the  full  now,  and 
when  we  rode  up  to  the  Bordj  the  open  space 
in  front  of  it,  between  us  and  the  village,  was 
flooded  with  delicate  light.  Against  it  one 
tree,  which  looked  like  Paderewski  grown  very 

349 


SMAIN 

old,  stood  up  with  tousled  branches.  In  the 
village  bonfires  flared,  and  the  dark  figures  of 
skipping  children  passed  and  re-passed  before 
them.  We  heard  youthful  cries  echoing 
across  the  sands.  Soon  they  faded.  The 
lights  went  out,  and  the  wonderful  silence  of 
night  in  the  desert  came  in  to  its  heritage. 

I  sat  on  the  edge  of  an  old  stone  well  before 
the  Bordj,  while  Safti  smoked  his  keef .  Near 
midnight,  quivering  across  the  sands,  came  the 
faint  sound  of  a  flute  moving  from  the  village 
towards  the  deep  obscurity  of  the  palm  gar- 
dens. I  knew  that  air,  those  trills,  those  little 
runs,  those  grace  notes. 

"  It  is  Smain,"  I  said  to  Safti. 

'  Yes,  Sidi.  He  will  play  all  night  alone 
among  the  palms.  He  is  in  love." 

"  But  with  Orei'da!     Is  it  possible?  " 

"  Did  he  not  say  that  she  was  like  the  first 
day  after  the  fast  of  Ramadan?  When  an 
African  says  that  his  heart  is  big  with  love." 

The  flute  went  on  and  on,  and  I  said  to  my- 
self and  to  the  moon,  as  I  had  often  said 
before : 

"  He  that  is  born  in  the  Sahara  is  an  im- 
penetrable mystery." 


350 


THE    SPINSTER 

I  HAD  arrived  at  Inley  Abbey  that  after- 
noon, and  was  sitting  at  dinner  with 
Inley  and  his  pretty  wife,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  for  five  years,  since  the  day  I  was  his  best 
man,  when  we  all  heard  faintly  the  tolling  of 
a  church  bell.  Lady  Inley  shook  her  shoulders 
in  a  rather  exaggerated  shudder. 

"  Someone  dead!  "  said  her  husband. 

"  It's  a  mistake  to  build  a  church  in  the 
grounds  of  a  house,"  Lady  Inley  said  in  her 
clear,  drawling  soprano  voice.  "  That  noise 
gives  me  the  blues." 

"  Whom  can  it  be  for?  "  asked  Inley. 

"  Miss  Bassett,  probably,"  Lady  Inley  re- 
plied carelessly,  helping  herself  to  a  bonbon 
from  a  little  silver  dish. 

Inley  started. 

"Miss  Sarah  Bassett!  What  makes  you 
think  so? " 

"  Oh,  while  you  were  away  in  town  she  got 
ill.  Didn't  you  know?  " 

"  No,"  said  Inley. 

I  could  see  that  he  was  moved.  His  dark, 
short  face  had  changed  suddenly,  and  he 
stopped  eating  his  fruit.  Lady  Inley  went  on 

351 


THE    SPINSTER 

crunching  the  bonbon  between  her  little  white 
teeth  with  all  the  enjoyment  of  a  pretty  mar- 
moset. 

"  Influenza,"  she  said  ^airily.  "  And  then 
pneumonia.  Of  course,  at  her  age,  you  know 
By  the  way,  what  is  her  age,  Nino? " 

"  No  idea,"  said  Inley  shortly. 

He  was  listening  to  the  dim  and  monotonous 
sound  of  the  church  bell. 

Lady  Inley  turned  to  me  with  the  childish, 
confidential  movement  which  men  considered 
one  of  her  many  charms. 

"  Miss  Bassett  is,  or  was,  one  of  those  funny 
old  spinsters  who  always  look  the  same  and  al- 
ways ridiculous.  Dry  twigs,  you  know.  One 
size  all  the  way  down.  Very  little  hair,  and 
no  emotions.  If  it  weren't  for  the  sake  of 
cats,  one  would  wonder  why  such  people  are 
born.  But  they're  always  cat-lovers.  I  sup- 
pose that's  why  they're  so  often  called  old 
cats." 

She  uttered  a  little  high-pitched  laugh,  and 
got  up. 

"  Don't  be  too  long,"  she  said  to  me  care- 
lessly as  I  opened  the  dining-room  door  for 
her.  "  I  want  to  sing  '  Ohe  Charmette  '  to 
you. 

"  I  won't  be  long,"  I  answered,  thinking 
what  exquisite  eyes  she  had. 

She  turned,  and  went  out  in  her  delicious, 
thin  way.  No  wonder  she  had  made  skeletons 
the  rage  in  London.  When  I  came  back  to 

352 


THE    SPINSTER 

the  dinner-table  Inley  was  sitting  with  both 
his  brown  hands  clenched  on  the  cloth.  His 
black  eyes — inherited  from  his  dead  mother, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  Neapolitan  aristocracy 
—were  glittering. 

'  What  is  it,  Nino?  "  I  asked  as  I  sat  down. 

We  had  been  such  intimate  friends  that  even 
my  five  years'  absence  abroad  had  not  built  up 
a  barrier  between  us. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  Miss  Bassett? "  he  said, 
looking  at  me  earnestly. 

"  But  was  she  a  great  friend  of  yours? "  I 
said.  "  If  Lady  Inley 's  description  of  her  is 
accurate,  I  can  hardly  imagine  so." 

"  Vere  doesn't  know  what  she's  saying." 
'  Then  Miss  Bassett 

"  Oh,  she  does  look  like  that;  dried  up,  un- 
emotional, tame,  English,  even  comic." 

"  The  regular  spinster,  eh?  " 

"  She  looks  it.  But,  damn  it  all,  Vere  has 
no  business  to  say  she  has  no  emotions,  to  won- 
der why  such  people  are  born.  But  she  doesn't 
know — Vere  doesn't  know." 

His  agitation  grew,  and  was  inexplicable  to 
me.  But  I  knew  Inley,  knew  that  he  was 
bound  to  tell  me  what  was  on  his  mind.  He 
could  be  reserved,  but  not  with  me.  So  I  took 
a  cigar,  cut  the  end  off  it  deliberately,  struck 
a  match,  lighted  it,  and  began  to  smoke  in 
silence.  He  followed  my  example  quickly, 
and  then  said : 

"  Vere  talks  like  that,  and,  but  for  Miss 
353 


THE    SPINSTER 

Bassett,  Vere  would  have  been  murdered  two 
years  ago." 

I  started,  and  dropped  my  cigar  on  the  table. 

"Murdered!" 

"Yes;  and  I 

He  fixed  his  eyes  on  me,  and  put  his  hand  up 
to  his  throat.  Nino  was  half  Neapolitan,  and  I 
saw  a  man  being  hanged.  I  picked  up  my 
cigar  with  a  hand  that  slightly  shook. 

"But,"  I  said,  "  I  always  thought  Lady  In- 
ley  and  you  were  very  happy  together." 

It  sounded  banal,  even  ridiculous,  but  I 
hardly  knew  what  to  say.  I  was  startled. 
The  tolling  of  the  bell,  too,  was  getting  on  my 
nerves. 

"  One  doesn't  write  such  things,"  he  said. 
"  You've  been  abroad  for  years." 

"It's  all  right  now?" 

He  nodded. 

"  I  suppose  so.  Vere  has  never  had  the 
least  suspicion." 

He  drew  his  chair  closer  to  mine,  and  was 
about  to  go  on  speaking  when  the  servants 
came  in  with  the  coif  ee. 

"Who's  the  bell  tolling  for,  Hurst?"  he 
said  to  the  butler. 

"  I  couldn't  say,  my  lord." 

When  the  servants  had  gone  Inley  contin- 
ued, at  first  in  a  calmer  voice: 

"  Miss  Bassett  lived  in  the  red  cottage  just 
beyond  the  gate  of  the  South  Lodge  from  time 
immemorial.  You  generally  came  to  us  in 

354 


THE    SPINSTER 

Scotland,  I  know,  but  I  should  think  you  must 
have  seen  her." 

Suddenly  a  recollection  flashed  upon  me — a 
recollection  of  a  long1,  flat  figure,  a  drab  face, 
thin  hair  coming  away  from  a  wrinkled  fore- 
head under  a  mushroom  hat,  flapping,  old- 
fashioned  golden  earrings. 

"  Not  the  person  I  used  to  call  '  the 
Plank'?  "I  said. 

"Did  you?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment. 
6  Yes ;  I  believe  you  did.     I'd  forgotten." 

"  She  was  always  in  church  twenty  minutes 
before  the  service  began,  and  always  dropped 
her  hymn-book  coming  out  if  there  were  vis- 
itors in  the  Abbey  pew!  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  that's  it.  Miss  Bassett  is  very 
nervous  in  little  ways." 

"  I  remember  her  now  perfectly.  And  you 
say  she— 

I  looked  at  him,  and  hesitated. 

"  She  saved  Vere's  life  and,  indirectly,  mine. 
I'll  tell  you  now  we're  together  again  at  last. 
I  shall  never  tell  Vere." 

He  looked  towards  the  windows,  across 
which  dark  blue  silk  curtains  were  drawn,  as 
if  he  could  see  the  passing-bell  swinging  in  the 
old  square  tower.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"  You  know  how  mad  I  was  about  Vere. 
It's  always  like  that  with  me.  Unless  I'm 
stone  I'm  fire.  After  we  were  married  I  got 
even  madder.  Having  her  all  to  myself  was 

355 


THE    SPINSTER 

like  enchantment,  and  in  Italy,  too,  my  other 
native  land." 

I  thought  of  Lady  Inley's  eyes. 

"  I  can  understand,"  I  said. 

"  Of  course,  when  we  got  back  it  had  to  be 
different.  Friends  came  in,  and  she  was  run 
after  and  admired  and  written  about.  You 
know  the  publicity  of  life  in  modern  London." 

"  City  of  public-houses  and  society  spies." 

"  I  bore  it,  because  it's  supposed  to  be  the 
thing.  And  Vere  rather  likes  it,  somehow. 
So  I  let  her  have  her  fun,  as  long  as  it  was  fun. 
I  didn't  intend  it  should  ever  be  anything  else." 

He  frowned.  When  he  did  that,  and  his 
thick  eyebrows  nearly  met,  he  looked  all 
Italian. 

'  We  did  the  usual  things — Paris,  Ascot, 
Scotland,  and  so  on — till  Vere  had  to  lie  up." 

"  Your  boy? " 

"  Yes ;  Hugo  came  along.  I  was  glad  when 
that  was  over.  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
die.  You  knew  Seymour  Glynd?  " 

"Life  Guards?  Killed  hunting  a  year 
ago?" 

Inley  nodded. 

"  He  was  a  great  deal  with  us  soon  after 
Hugo's  birth.  I  thought  nothing  of  it.  I'd 
known  the  fellow  all  my  life.  But  then  one 
nearly  always  has." 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"  To  cut  that  part  short,  two  years  ago  in 
autumn  we  had  Glynd  staying  with  us  down 

356 


THE    SPINSTER 

here  for  shooting.  There  were  some  others,  of 
course — Mrs.  Jack,  Bobbie  Elphintori,  and 
Lady  Bobbie — but  you  know  the  lot." 

"  I  did." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  you've  been  well  out  of  it 
these  years.  Well,  the  shoot  was  to  break  up 
on  a  Friday,  and  I'd  arranged  to  go  to  town 
that  day  with  the  rest.  Vere  didn't  intend  to 
come.  She  said  she  was  feeling  tired,  and  was 
going  to  have  a  Friday  to  Monday  rest  cure. 
That's  the  thing,  you  know,  nowadays.  You 
get  a  Swedish  masseuse  down  to  stay,  and  go 
to  bed  and  drink  milk.  Vere  had  engaged  a 
masseuse  to  come  on  the  Friday  night.  On 
the  Thursday,  the  day  before  we  were  all  going 
to  town,  Glynd  hurt  his  foot  getting  over  a 
fence  into  a  turnip  field — at  least  I  thought 


so." 


He  stopped. 

"  Everyone  thought  so,  I  believe — except, 
of  course,  Vere.  I  wonder  if  they  did, 
though?  "  he  added  moodily.  "  Or  whether  I 
was  the  only —  But  what  does  it  matter 
now?  Glynd  said  he  only  wanted  a  couple  of 
days'  rest  to  be  all  right  again,  and  asked  me 
if  he  might  stay  on  at  the  Abbey  till  the  Mon- 
day. Of  course  I  said  '  Yes ;  if  he  wouldn't 
want  a  hostess.'  Because  Vere  said  to  me, 
when  she  heard  of  it,  that  she  must  have  her 
rest  cure  all  the  same.  Glynd  swore  he'd  be 
quite  happy  alone.  So  he  stayed,  and  the  rest 
of  us  came  up  to  town  on  the  Friday.  Well, 

357 


THE    SPINSTER 

on  the  Saturday  morning  I  was  walking 
across  the  park  when  I  met  the  Swedish  mas- 
seuse who  was  to  have  gone  down  to  Vere  on 
the  Friday  night.  I  knew  her,  because  Vere 
had  often  had  her  before  in  London. 
'  Hullo ! '  I  said.  '  You  ought  to  be  down  at 
Inley  Abbey  with  my  wife.'  '  No,  my  lord/ 
she  said.  '  Why  not? '  'I've  had  a  wire 
from  Lady  Inley  not  to  go.'  '  A  wire ! '  I 
said.  '  When  did  you  get  it? '  '  On  Thurs- 
day night,  my  lord.'  '  You  mean  last  night  ? ' 
I  said,  thinking  Vere  must  have  changed  her 
mind  after  we  had  left.  '  No,'  said  the 
woman;  'on  Thursday  night,  late.'  Then  I 
remembered  that,  after  Glynd  had  hurt  his 
foot  and  asked  to  stay,  Vere  had  gone  out 
alone  for  a  drive  in  her  cart,  to  get  a  last 
breath  of  air  before  the  rest  cure.  She  must 
have  sent  the  telegram  herself  then.  All  of 
a  sudden  I  seemed  to  understand  a  lot  of 
things." 

He  had  let  his  cigar  out,  and  now  he  noticed 
that  he  had.  He  tossed  it  into  the  fire. 

"  I  said  '  Good-morning '  to  the  woman 
quite  quietly,  went  back  to  the  house,  and 
told  my  man  I  shouldn't  be  at  home  that 
night."* 

He  put  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"I  felt  perfectly  calm.  Wasn't  that 
strange? " 

I  nodded. 

"  There  was  a  train  from  town  reaching 
358 


THE    SPINSTER 

Ashdridge  Station  at  nine  o'clock  at  night. 
I  took  it.  I  didn't  care  to  go  to  Inley  Station, 
where  everybody  would  know  me,  and  won- 
der what  I  was  up  to.  I  didn't  take  any  lug- 
gage. My  man  asked  if  he  should  pack,  and 
I  said  '  No.'  I  didn't  dine.  I  was  at  Pad- 
dington  three-quarters  of  an  hour  before  the 
train  was  due  to  start.  At  last  it  came  in 
to  the  platform.  Going  down  I  read  the  even- 
ing papers  just  like  any  man  going  home 
from  business.  Soon  after  we  got  away  from 
London  I  saw  there  was  rain  on  the  carriage 
windows.  That  seemed  to  me  right.  We  were 
a  little  late  at  Ashdridge.  It  was  still  wet, 
and  I  had  my  coat  collar  turned  up.  I  don't 
believe  they  recognised  me  there.  I  set  out 
to  walk  to  Inley." 

"  What  did  you  mean  to  do?  " 

"  I  told  you  before." 

I  looked  into  his  face,  and  believed  him. 
Then  I  thought  of  Lady  Inley's  childish,  del- 
icate beauty,  of  her  slightly  affected  manner, 
the  manner  of  a  woman  who  has  always  been 
spoilt,  whose  paths  have  been  made  very 
smooth.  And  here  she  was  living,  apparently 
happily,  with  a  man  who  had  deliberately  trav- 
elled down  in  the  night  to  kill  her.  How  ig- 
norant we  are! 

"  You  are  condemning  me,"  Inley  said,  with 
a  touch  of  hot  anger. 

"  I  was  only  thinking " 

"Yes?" 

359 


THE    SPINSTER 

'  That  we  don't  know  each  other  much  in 
the  greatest  intimacy." 

'  That's  what  I  thought  then." 

He  said  that  in  a  way  which  suddenly  put 
me  on  his  side.  He  must  have  seen  the  change 
in  my  feelings,  for  he  went  on,  with  his  former 
unreserve: 

"  I  walked  fast  in  the  dark.  I  didn't  think 
very  much,  but  I  remember  that  all  the  trees— 
there's  a  lot  of  woodland,  you  know,  between 
Ashdridge  and  Inley — seemed  alive.  Every- 
thing seemed  to  me  to  be  alive  that  night. 
I've  never  had  that  sensation  before  or  since." 

I  realised  what  the  condition  of  the  man  had 
been  when  he  said  that,  as  if  I  were  a  doctor 
and  a  patient  had  told  me  the  symptom  which 
put  me  in  possession  of  his  malady. 

'  When  I  reached  Inley  it  was  late,  and  the 
long  village  street  was  deserted.  There  were 
lights  in  the  inn  and  in  the  schoolmaster's 
house,  but  there  were  no  people  about.  I  got 
through  without  meeting  a  soul,  and  came  on 
towards  the  gates  of  the  Abbey." 

"  You  meant  to  go  into  the  house?  " 

"Yes.  I  was  sure — somehow  I  was  sure; 
but  I  intended  to  see  before  I  acted,  merely 
for  my  own  justification.  But  I  was  quite 
sure,  as  if  Vere  herself  had  told  me  everything. 
Soon  after  I  had  got  clear  of  the  village  I 
heard  a  sound  of  wheels  behind  me.  I  stood 
up  against  the  hedge,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  a 
fly  passed  me  going  slowly.  I  saw  the  driver's 

360 


THE    SPINSTER 

face.  It  wasn't  a  man  from  Inley.  Evident- 
ly the  fly  had  come  from  a  distance.  It  was 
splashed  with  mud,  and  the  horse  looked  tired. 
I  followed  it  till  it  came  to  the  turning  just  be- 
low Miss  Bassett's  cottage,  where  there's  a 
narrow  lane  going  to  Charfield  through  the 
woods.  It  went  a  little  way  down  this  lane, 
and  stopped.  I  waited  at  the  turning.  I 
could  see  the  light  from  the  lamps  shining  on 
the  wet  road,  and  in  the  circle  of  light  the 
driver's  breath.  He  bent  down,  and  I  saw 
him  looking  at  a  big  silver  watch.  Then  he 
put  it  back.  But  he  didn't  drive  on.  I  knew 
what  he  was  waiting  for.  Vere  was  going 
with — with  Glynd.  That  was  more  than  I  had 
ever  thought  of,  that  she  would  go.  I  put  my 
hand  into  my  pocket,  took  out  my  revolver, 
and  went  on  till  I  was  close  to  the  red  cottage. 
By  this  time  the  rain  had  stopped.  I  came 
up  to  within  a  few  yards  of  the  Abbey  gates, 
stood  for  a  moment,  and  then  returned  till  I 
was  at  the  wicket  of  Miss  Bassett's  garden. 
It's  bounded  by  a  yew  hedge,  beyond  which 
there  is  a  path  shaded  by  mulberry-trees.  The 
hedge  is  low.  The  path  is  dark.  It  was  a 
blackguardly  thing  to  do,  but  I  thought  of 
nothing  except  myself,  my  wrong,  and  how  I 
was  to  wipe  it  out.  I  opened  the  wicket,  came 
into  the  path,  and  stood  there  under  the  mul- 
berry-trees behind  the  hedge.  Here  I  was  in 
cover,  and  could  see  the  road.  I  held  my  re- 
volver in  my  hand,  and  waited.  It  never  struck 

361 


THE    SPINSTER 

me  that  Miss  Bassett  might  be  up.  I  saw  no 
light  in  the  cottage,  and  I  had  a  sort  of  idea 
that  people  like  her  went  to  bed  at  about  eight. 
While  I  was  standing  there  listening  I  felt 
something  rub  against  my  legs.  It  made  me 
start.  Then  I  heard  a  little  low  noise.  I 
looked  down,  and  there  was  a  great  cat  holding 
up  its  tail  and  purring.  Its  pleasure  was  hor- 
rible to  me.  I  pushed  it  away  with  my  foot, 
but  it  came  back,  bending  down  its  head,  arch- 
ing its  back,  and  pressing  against  me.  I  was 
thinking  what  to  do  to  get  rid  of  it  when  I 
heard  a  shrill,  husky  voice  call  out : 
'  Johnny — John-nee ! ' 

"  It  was  Miss  Bassett.  I  held  my  breath, 
and  pushed  away  the  cat. 

'  Johnny,  Johnny — John-nee ! '  went  the 
voice  again. 

'  The  cat  wouldn't  leave  me.  God  knows 
why  it  wished  to  stay.  I  was  determined  to 
get  rid  of  it,  so  I  put  the  revolver  down  on 
the  path,  picked  the  cat  up  in  my  arms,  and 
dropped  it  over  the  hedge  into  the  road.  Just 
as  I  had  caught  up  the  revolver  again  I  was 
confronted  by  Miss  Bassett.  She  had  come  in 
slippers  up  the  path  in  the  dark  to  look  for  her 
cat." 

I  uttered  a  slight  exclamation. 

Inley  went  on:  "  She  had  a  handkerchief 
tied  over  her  cap  and  under  her  chin,  and  a 
small  lantern  in  her  hands,  on  which  she  wore 
bl#ck  mittens.  I  can  see  her  now.  .We  stood 

362 


THE    SPINSTER 

there  on  the  path  for  a  minute  staring  at  each 
other  without  a  word.  The  light  from  the  lan- 
tern flickered  over  the  revolver,  and  I  saw  Miss 
Bassett  look  down  at  it." 

He  stopped,  poured  out  a  glass  of  water, 
and  drank  it  off  like  a  man  who  has  been  run- 
ning. 

"  Didn't  she  show  surprise — fear?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  a  bit.  Women  are  so  extraordinary, 
even  old  women  who've  never  been  in  touch 
with  life,  that  I'm  certain  now  she  understood 
directly  her  eyes  fell  on  the  revolver." 

"What  did  she  do?" 

"  After  a  minute  she  said: *  Lord  Inley,  I'm 
looking  for  my  cat.  Have  you  seen  him? ' 

"  *  Yes,'  I  said ;  '  he's  run  into  the  house.' 

"  It  was  a  lie,  but  I  wanted  her  to  go  in.  I 
had  slipped  the  revolver  back  into  my  pocket, 
and  tried  to  assume  a  perfectly  simple,  natural 
air.  I  fancied  it  would  be  very  easy  to  impose 
on  Miss  Bassett  when  I  heard  her  question.  It 
sounded  so  innocent,  as  if  the  old  lady  was  full 
of  her  pet.  I  even  thought,  perhaps,  she  had 
not  known  what  the  revolver  was  when  she 
looked  at  it. 

"  *  Did  he  run  into  the  house? '  she  said,  still 
looking  at  me  from  under  her  wrinkled  eyelids. 

"  '  Yes;  when  you  came  out.  He  was  here 
on  the  path  with  me.  You  called  "  Johnny!  " 
and  he  ran  off  there  between  the  mulberry- 
trees.' 

"  All  the  time  I  was  speaking  to  her  I  had 
363 


THE    SPINSTER 

an  eye  to  the  road,  and  my  ears  were  listening 
like  an  Indian's  when  he  puts  his  head  to  the 
ground  to  hear  the  pad  of  his  enemy. 

"  Miss  Bassett  stood  there  quietly  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  she  were  considering  something. 
She  looked  prim.  I  remember  that  even  now 
— prim  as  a  caricature.  It  was  only  a  moment, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  an  hour.  '  If  they  should 
come,'  I  thought,  *  while  she  is  out  here! '  The 
sweat  came  out  all  over  my  face  with  impa- 
tience— an  agony  of  impatience.  I  longed  to 
take  the  old  lady  by  the  shoulders,  push  her 
into  the  cottage,  lock  her  in,  and  be  alone,  able 
to  watch  the  bit  of  road  from  the  Abbey  gates 
to  the  wicket.  But  I  could  do  nothing.  I  was 
obliged  to  repress  every  sign  of  agitation.  It 
was  devilish." 

He  got  up  with  a  sudden  jerk  from  his 
chair,  and  stood  by  the  fire.  Even  the  telling 
of  that  moment  had  set  beads  of  moisture  on 
his  square,  low  forehead. 

"  At  last  she  spoke  again. 

'  I  wonder  if  you'd  mind  coming  in  for  a 
minute  to  help  me  see  if  Johnny  really  is  in 
the  house? '  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done — 
refused,  I  believe,  refused  her  with  an  oath, 
for  I  began  to  feel  mad;  but  just  at  that  in- 
stant up  came  the  cat  once  more,  purring  like 
fury,  and  lifting  up  his  tail.  He  made  straight 
for  me,  and  began  to  rub  himself  against  my 
legs  again. 

364 


THE    SPINSTER 

"'Oh!'  said  Miss  Bassett,  'there  he  is! 
Naughty  Johnny,  naughty  boy!  Lord  Inley, 
perhaps  you'd  be  so  good  as  just  to  lift  him  up 
and  put  him  inside  the  door  for  me.  I  al- 
ways have  such  a  job  to  get  him  to  come  in  of 
a  night.  He  likes  hunting  in  the  woods. 
Doesn't  he,  the  naughty  Johnny? ' 

"  '  Now's  my  chance  to  get  rid  of  her! '  I 
thought. 

"  I  bent  down,  picked  the  cat  up,  and  went 
along  the  path  towards  the  cottage,  Miss  Bas- 
sett following  close  behind  me.  The  cat  was 
an  immense  beast,  awfully  heavy,  and  just  as 
I  turned  out  of  the  yew  path  to  go  up  to  the 
cottage  door  he  began  struggling  to  get  away, 
and  scratching.  I  held  on  to  him,  but  it  wasn't 
easy,  and  I  got  my  hand  torn  before  I  dropped 
him  down  inside  the  little  hall.  Away  he  ran, 
towards  the  kitchen,  I  suppose.  Miss  Bassett 
was  very  grateful,  but  I  cut  her  gratitude 
short. 

"  '  Very  glad  to  have  been  able  to  help  you,' 
I  said.  '  Good-night.' 

"  '  Good-night,  Lord  Inley,'  she  said. 

"  I  thought  her  voice  sounded  a  little  bit  odd 
when  she  said  that,  and  I  just  glanced  at  her 
funny  old  face,  lit  up  by  the  lantern  she  was 
holding  in  one  mittened  hand.  She  didn't  look 
at  me  this  time  as  she  had  in  the  garden.  Then 
I  went  out,  and  she  immediately  shut  the 
door. 

"  '  Thank  God! '  I  thought,  and  I  hurried  to 
365 


TEtE    SPINSTER 

the  wicket.  I  didn't  dare  stay  in  the  garden 
now.  Seeing  her  had  made  me  realise  my 
blackguardism  in  coming  in  at  all,  considering 
my  reason.  I  resolved  to  hide  in  the  field  at 
the  corner  where  the  road  turns  off  to 
Charfield.  As  I  opened  the  wicket,  instinc- 
tively I  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket  for  my 
revolver." 

He  bent  down,  looking  full  into  my  eyes. 

"  It  wasn't  there." 

"  Miss  Bassett!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  In  a  moment  I  realised  that  Miss  Bassett 
must  have  grasped  the  situation;  that  her  ask- 
ing me  to  carry  in  her  cat  was  a  ruse,  and  that 
while  the  beast  was  struggling  between  my 
hands  she  must  have  stolen  the  revolver  from 
behind.  I  say  I  knew  that,  and  yet  even  then, 
when  I  thought  of  her  look,  her  manner,  the 
sort  of  nervous  old  thing  she  was,  I  couldn't 
believe  what  I  knew.  Then  I  remembered  her 
voice  when  she  said  '  Good-night '  to  me  in 
the  passage,  her  eyes  looking  down  instead  of 
at  me,  and  that  she  was  only  holding  the  lan- 
tern in  one  hand,  whereas  in  the  garden  she 
was  using  two.  She  must  have  had  the  revol- 
ver in  her  other  hand  concealed  in  the  folds  of 
her  dress.  I  ran  back  to  the  cottage  door,  and 
knocked — hard.  Not  that  I  thought  she'd 
open.  I  knew  she  wouldn't,  but  she  did  direct- 
ly. I  could  hardly  speak.  I  was  afraid  of  my- 
self just  then.  At  last  I  said : 

"  *  Miss  Bassett,  you  know  what  I  want.' 
366 


THE    SPINSTER 

" '  You  can't  have  it,'  she  said,  looking 
straight  at  me. 

"  I  kept  quiet  for  a  second,  then  I  said: 

" '  Miss  Bassett,  I  don't  think  you  know 
that  you're  running  into  danger.'  For  I  felt 
that  there  was  danger  for  her  then  if  she  went 
against  me.  She  knew  it,  too,  perhaps  better 
than  I  did.  I  saw  her  poor  old  hands,  all  blue 
veins,  beginning  to  tremble. 

" '  You  can't  have  it,  Lord  Inley,'  she  re- 
peated. 

"  There  wasn't  the  ghost  of  a  quiver  in  her 
voice. 

"  '  I  must,  I  will ! '  I  said,  and  I  made  a 
movement  towards  her — a  violent  movement 
I  know  it  was. 

"  But  the  old  thing  stood  her  ground.  Oh, 
she  was  a  gallant  old  woman. 

"  '  Do  what  you  like  to  me,'  she  said.  f  I'm 
old.  What  does  it  matter?  She's  young.' 

"  Then  I  knew  she  understood. 

"  '  You've  seen  them  together ! '  I  said. 
'Since  I  went!' 

"  She  wouldn't  say.  Not  a  word.  I  was 
mad.  I  forgot  decency,  everything.  I  took 
her.  I  searched  her  for  the  revolver.  I 
searched  her  roughly — God  forgive  me.  She 
trembled  horribly,  but  never  said  a  word.  It 
wasn't  on  her.  She  must  have  hidden  it  some- 
where in  that  moment  when  she  was  alone  in 
the  cottage.  That  was  another  ruse  to  keep 
me  searching  in  there  while —  But  I  saw  it 

367 


THE    SPINSTER 

almost  directly.  I  broke  away,  and  rushed  out 
and  down  the  road.  Something  seemed  to  tell 
me  they  had  passed.  I  got  into  the  lane 
that  leads  to  Charfield.  The  fly  was  gone. 
Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  I  felt  perfectly 
calm.  I  turned,  and  went  up  to  the  Abbey 
gates.  I  knocked  them  up  at  the  lodge. 
The  keeper  came  out.  When  he  saw  me  he 
said: 

'  You,  my  lord!  However  did  you  know? ' 

"'Go  on!' I  said.    '  Know  what? ' 
'  About  Master  Hugo? ' 

:<  I  didn't  say  one  way  or  the  other. 

'  The  doctor  says  it's  a  bitter  bad  quinsy, 
but  there's  just  a  chance.  Her  ladyship's  near- 
ly mad.  It  only  came  on  a  few  hours  ago  quite 
sudden.' 

"  I  went  up  to  the  Abbey,  and  found  Vere 
by  the  child's  bed.  She  looked  flushed,  and 
was  breathing  hard,  as  if  she  had  just  been 
running.'* 

He  stopped,  and  took  out  his  cigar-case. 

"Running!"  I  said. 

"  She  had  parted  finally  from  Glynd  in 
front  of  Miss  Bassett's  cottage,"  he  said.  "  He 
told  me  that  afterwards." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then  he 
spoke  more  calmly. 

"  I  went  up  to  town  when  the  child  was  safe, 
and  had  it  out  with  Glynd.  They  had  meant 
to  go  that  night.  It  was  the  boy  who  stopped 
her.  She  took  it  as  a  judgment.  You  know 

368 


THE    SPINSTER 

how  women  are.  Glynd  swore  she  was  stopped 
in  time.  You  understand?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  He  didn't  lie  to  me." 

"  And  your  wife?  " 

"  I  never  spoke  of  it  to  her.  I  saw  her  with 
the  boy,  and — well,  I  saw  her  with  the  boy,  and 
what  she  was  to  him  when  he  was  close  to 
death." 

His  voice  went  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
added: 

"  I  told  her  I'd  had  a  presentiment  Hugo 
was  ill.  She  believed  me,  I  think.  If  not,  she's 
kept  her  secret." 

Just  then  the  dining-room  door  opened,  and 
Lady  Inley  put  in  her  pretty  head. 

"  Are  you  never  coining?  "  she  said  with  her 
little  childish  drawl. 

I  got  up,  and  went  towards  her. 

"By  the  way,  Nino,"  she  added,  "the  bell 
was  for  poor,  funny  old  Miss  Bassett.  What 
will  her  cat  do,  I  wonder?  " 

As  I  followed  her  towards  the  drawing- 
room  I  heard  Inley's  voice  mutter  behind  me : 

<f  Requiescat  in  Pace" 


369 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

ONE  autumn  I  was  in  Sicily,  making  a 
number  of  mountain  excursions,  visit- 
ing remote  villages  hidden  in  rocky  clefts,  or 
perched  boldly  on  spurs  in  the  eye  of  the  sun, 
sleeping  occasionally  at  night  in  humble  rooms 
to  which  the  gobbling  turkey  and  the  auda- 
cious pig  were  no  strangers.  Among  my  many 
memories  of  those  free  and  happy  days  one 
stands  out — the  memory  of  a  tress  of  splendid 
black  hair. 

On  an  afternoon,  near  sunset,  I  rode  up  to 
the  edge  of  a  hamlet  of  huddled  dwellings, 
where  stood  a  large,  old  church,  Arabic-Nor- 
man in  style,  and  here  I  dismounted  to  rest 
and  fill  my  eyes  and  heart  with  the  wonder 
and  the  glory  of  Nature. 

As  I  gazed  I  remember  thinking:  "How 
small  humanity  is !  " 

A  fat  old  priest  shuffled  up  to  recall  me 
from  my  reveries.  He  cleared  his  throat,  sa- 
luted me,  and  begged  me  to  come  and  see  his 
church. 

We  went  into  the  sacristy,  and  presently 
stood  before  an  immense  and  mouldy  cup- 
board. After  much  struggling  with  a  rusty 
key  the  doors  were  opened,  and  I  was  con- 

371 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

fronted  by  a  large  wooden  statue  of  the  Ma- 
donna and  Child,  covered  with  fading  but  still 
hideous  colours,  and  flecked  with  the  dust  of 
ages. 

I  scarcely  noticed  the  statue,  however,  for 
my  eyes  had  fallen  upon  something  else — a 
great  plait  of  glorious  black  hair,  thick,  long, 
twisted  with  reverent  care,  strong  strand 
through  strand,  tied  at  the  top  and  bottom  by 
bows  of  rose-red  satin.  It  hung  to  the  wrist 
of  the  Madonna,  and  was  touched  by  the  little 
outstretched  foot  of  the  infant  Jesus. 

I  looked  inquiringly  at  the  priest. 

'  That  is  Pancrazia's  hair,  signore." 

"Pancrazia's  hair!  Who  is,  or  was,  Pan- 
crazia?  " 

An  expression  came  into  the  priest's  face 
that  transformed  it — a  look  so  human,  so  ten- 
der, even  so  mystical,  that  suddenly  I  loved 
this  old  man  in  his  rusty  soutane  and  his 
wrinkled,  patched  boots. 

I  sat  down  on  a  wooden  box  that  stood  just 
below  the  statue,  and  the  priest  told  me  the 
story  of  the  tress  of  hair. 

I  give  it  in  his  words,  so  far  as  I  remember 
them.  But  I  cannot  give  the  look  in  his  eyes 
while  he  was  speaking,  or  the  almost  childish- 
ly beautiful  simplicity  and  sincerity  of  his 
manner. 

"  Pancrazia  was  never  a  handsome  girl,  but 
always  she  looked  a  good  girl.  And  then  she 
had  the  most  beautiful  hair  in  the  village,  or, 

372 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

indeed,  in  all  the  country  round.  When  she 
was  a  child  it  was  full  of  gleams  of  gold,  but 
the  underneath  was  always  dark;  and,  as  she 
grew,  the  darkness  of  it  crept  up,  till  all  over 
her  head  the  hair  was  black.  Only  in  the  front, 
by  her  temples,  there  remained  little  feathers 
of  gold,  which  fell  down  near  her  kind,  pious 
eyes — eyes  that  could  be  merry,  too,  and  laugh 
as  readily  as  the  eyes  of  the  wicked  and  the 
w^anton. 

"  Pancrazia  was  not  one  of  the  melancholy 
who  must  cry  when  they  pray.  She  thought  it 
no  wrong  to  smile  at  the  Madonna ;  and  I  have 
seen  her  run  out  of  school  in  the  summer  days, 
and  blow  kisses  to  the  Mother  of  God — where 
the  shrine  is  by  the  gateway  of  the  village— 
as  a  child  might  to  her  own  mother  coming 
down  to  meet  her  over  the  rocks,  with,  maybe, 
the  little  pig  trotting  alongside.  Why  not, 
signore?  She  had  confidence  in  the  Madonna; 
and  what  is  more  beautiful  than  the  confidence 
which  runs  out  of  a  young  heart  like  a  stream 
out  of  a  hazel  wood?  The  Madonna  loved  it, 
you  may  be  sure. 

"  As  Pancrazia  grew  up,  despite  her  piety- 
she  was  the  purest-minded  child  I  ever  blessed 
—the  natural  feelings  grew  with  her.  They 
come  early,  signore,  in  sunny  places;  and, 
thank  God,  the  sun  is  never  long  away  from  us 
here.  She  began  to  know  there's  a  life  for  a 
maiden  that  follows  after  the  child's  life. 

"  Ah,  signore,  I  watched  over  the  girl  as  I 
373 


PANCKAZIA'S    HAIH 

have  watched  over  a  flower  growing  in  my 
little  garden — you  must  see  my  little  garden, 
signore,  before  you  go. 

"Often  I  thought:  'What  a  mother  she 
will  make ! '  And  sometimes  I  would  run  over 
the  boys  of  the  village  to  choose  a  husband  for 
her  when  she  should  be  a  bit  older.  But  some- 
how it  always  ended  the  same  way:  I  never 
could  settle  on  the  husband. 

'  Well,  signore,  you  know  what  girls  are. 
She  didn't  wait  for  me  to  choose,  though  no- 
body respected  me  as  she  did.  She  didn't  think 
so  much  of  herself  as  I  thought  of  her.  And 
while  I  was  saying  to  myself:  '  Giovanni  won't 
do,  and  Stefano  won't  do,  and  Paolo's  not  the 
one,  and  may  the  Madonna  preserve  her  from 
Giorgio ! '  she  says  to  herself :  '  Angelo ! '  Not 
a  word  more,  you  may  be  certain.  I  can  hear 
her  say  it,  and  see  her  lips  smiling  over  the 
word — '  Angelo ! ' 

"I'd  come  to  him,  in  my  numbering,  and 
I'd  said  to  myself:  'Angelo  won't  quite  do.' 
Not  that  he  was  a  bad  boy.  And  he  was  a 
handsome  one;  strong,  merry,  and  could  play 
the  guitar  and  dance  the  tarantella,  and  sing 
6  O  sole  mio! '  till  you  could  hear  it  from  Aci- 
reale  to  Capo  Sant'  Alessio  pretty  near.  But 
—  Well,  in  my  eyes,  nobody  would  do  for 
Pancrazia. 

"  In  her  heart,  all  the  same,  she  chose  An- 
gelo, and  it  seemed  that  in  his  he  chose  her. 
When  I  saw  him  with  her  one  twilight  by  the 

374 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

shrine  at  the  gateway,  and  saw  her  kneel  down, 
while  he  stood  beside  her,  and  crossed  himself 
and  looked  at  her  as  she  was  praying — for  him, 
signore,  you  may  be  sure,  knowing  women — I 
understood  how  it  was,  and  I  said  to  myself: 
'  Perhaps  the  Madonna  has  done  the  number- 
ing too,  and  stopped  at  Angelo.' 

"  And  so  I  left  it,  trusting  all  was  right  for 
that  pure  child,  even  in  this  world  of  sin. 

"  Angelo  was  a  seaman,  and  was  often 
away.  One  night  when  I  was  in  my  garden 
watering  my  roses — they  are  worth  seeing,  as 
you  will  know  presently,  signore — I  saw  An- 
gelo and  Pancrazia  coming  up  to  the  gate  to- 
gether. I  set  down  the  pot  of  water.  Pancra- 
zia was  smiling,  and  he  looked  brave — you 
know  how  a  boy  of  courage  looks  when  he's 
just  found  someone  who  wants  to  be  taken 
care  of,  signore? 

"  I  understood,  but  I  pretended  not  to,  and 
said  innocently:  '  What  is  it,  my  children? ' 

"  Then  she  told  me,  while  he  just  stared  at 
her,  with  his  eyes  getting  graver  at  every  word 
she  said.  They  were  going  to  be  husband  and 
wife,  and  I  was  the  first  to  know  it.  Angelo 
had  to  go  away  in  the  morning  to  Messina. 
He'd  got  a  job  to  sail  on  an  orange  boat  to  the 
Lipari  Islands,  and  was  to  be  away  two 
months  in  all.  For  those  two  months  the  secret 
was  to  be  kept  among  us  three. 

"  It  was  Pancrazia's  wish.  She  didn't  want 
to  face  the  village  talk  till  Angelo  could  stay 

375 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

beside  her.  There  was  always  something  more 
retiring  about  her  than  about  the  other  girls. 
It  seemed  to  go  with  her  purity.  I  blessed 
them  both,  and,  when  I'd  finished  watering 
my  roses,  I  prayed  for  them  and  for  their  chil- 
dren. 

"Angelo  went  away  in  the  morning,  and 
Pancrazia  kept  up  bravely.  The  village  folk 
gossiped  and  laughed,  and  spoke  of  the  faith- 
lessness of  the  men  of  the  sea,  but  Pancrazia 
only  smiled  to  herself.  And  I  smiled  too. 
You  see,  we  knew  what  had  been  settled,  but 
they,  poor,  silly  souls,  were  ignorant.  Yet,  as 

it  turned  out,  I  don't  know " 

'  Time  went  on,  and  one  evening,  after  a 
month  had  gone,  Pancrazia  came  rushing  into 
my  garden  like  a  mad  thing,  with  a  bit  of 
paper  in  her  hand.  Angelo  was  desperately  ill 
with  fever  far  away  in  Lipari,  and  the  orange 
boat  had  had  to  sail  from  there  and  leave  him. 
I  scarcely  knew  Pancrazia.  There  was  a  pas- 
sion in  her  I'd  never  suspected,  although  I 
know  the  fires  that  slumber  in  us,  who  are  al- 
most the  sucking  children  of  Etna,  signore,  as 
you  might  say. 

"  '  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do? '  she 
kept  on  crying  out. 

"  *  Pray,'  I  said.  *  Pray,  my  child,  to  the 
Madonna  della  Rocca.' 

"  When  she  left  me  it  was  night.  Very  late 
I  walked  out  to  the  wall  above  the  precipice  to 
look  at  Etna  and  the  stars,  and  there,  beyond 

376 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

the  gateway,  on  the  stones  before  the  shrine, 
I  saw  a  figure  kneeling,  and  I  heard  a  little 
noise  of  sobbing.  I  went,  and  whispered: 

"  '  You  must  not  cry  thus  when  you  pray, 
Pancrazia.  The  Madonna  will  think  you 
doubt  her.' 

"  Then,  signore,  the  sobbing  stopped. 

"  A  week  went  by,  two  weeks,  and  then 
came  news  that  Angelo  was  worse,  was  dying 
out  there  in  the  islands.  That  day  Pancrazia 
came  again  to  my  house.  She  was  calm,  sig- 
nore, calm,  and  her  face  white  and  still  as  a 
pan  of  milk. 

"  '  Padre,'  she  said,  '  shut  the  door.' 

"  I  shut  it. 

"  *  Padre,'  she  said, '  I'm  going  to  give  some- 
thing to  the  Madonna  della  Rocca,  and  no  one 
is  to  know  but  you.  Will  you  promise  never  to 
tell?' 

"  I  promised  solemnly,  as  she  desired. 
'  Come  with  me  to  the  church  now,  padre.' 

"  I  went  with  her.  She  had  in  her  hands  a 
length  of  red  ribbon,  and  there  was  a  scissors 
hanging  at  her  waist. 

'  When  we  were  in  the  church  she  shut  the 
door,  and  said: 

" '  Unlock  the  cupboard  in  the  sacristy, 
please,  padre.' 

"  We  went  into  the  sacristy,  and  I  unlocked 
this  cupboard,  and  looked  at  her. 

"  '  What  is  it  you  are  giving  to  the  Madon- 
na, my  child? '  I  asked. 

377 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

"  She  never  said  a  word,  but  took  the  scissors 
from  her  waist,  and  before  I  could  stop  her  she 
had  cut  off  her  beautiful  hair.  Not  that  I 
would  have  prevented  her;  no,  signore,  but  it 
was  her  one  beauty,  except  the  look  of  good- 
ness in  her  face.  And  somehow  it  seemed  to 
me  that  the  Madonna  would  have  wished — 
But  she  was  right.  We  should  keep  back 
nothing.  She  tied  the  ribbons  as  they  are  now, 
and  hung  the  hair  up  there  upon  the  Madon- 
na's hand,  and  knelt  down,  and  told  her  that 
she  offered  it  for  Angelo,  in  the  hope  that  her 
love  of  him  might  be  regarded  in  heaven,  and 
that  his  life  might  be  spared.  That  was  all. 

"  She  put  a  shawl  over  her  poor  head,  and 
we  came  out. 

"  Well,  presently  there  was  a  fine  to-do  in 
the  village.  When  the  folk  saw  Pancrazia's 
head  they  stared,  and  asked,  and  laughed. 
And  the  children  pointed,  and  cried  out.  And 
the  boys—  I  beat  the  boys,  signore,  and 
never  asked  forgiveness.  But  Pancrazia 
wouldn't  say  a  word. 

"  Pancrazia's  off ering  found  favour  with 
the  Madonna,  signore.  Her  prayer  was  heard. 
Angelo  recovered,  and  returned." 

The  old  priest  paused.  His  face  was  work- 
ing. The  mystical  expression  I  had  observed 
in  his  eyes  was  replaced  for  a  moment  by  a 
very  different  look.  After  a  silence  he  contin- 
ued: 

"  No  one  knew  then  what  we  all  knew  later : 
378 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

that  he  had  been  nursed  back  to  life — those 
were  Angelo's  words,  and  a  lie,  signore,  for  his 
recovery  was  the  miracle  of  the  Madonna — by 
a  woman  of  the  islands,  and  that  already  his 
heart  was  going  out  to  this  stranger.  He  had 
come  back,  though,  to  keep  his  word.  That  I 
know.  But  when  he  saw  Pancrazia's  poor, 
shorn  head  he  thought  again  of  the  island 
woman,  and " 

The  old  man  coughed,  and  paused. 

"  Signore,"  he  resumed  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  when  Pancrazia  saw  his  look,  and  that  his 
heart  was  turned  by  such  a  thing,  she  would 
not  say  where,  and  why,  the  hair  was  gone. 
And  I — I  had  promised.  Angelo  was  but  a 
lad,  his  passions  were  hot,  the  lust  of  the  eye 
was  awake  within  him,  and — God  and  the  Ma- 
donna forgive  him! — where  he  should  have 
seen  the  heart  he " 

He  paused  again. 

"  Signore,  he  went  back  to  the  islands,  and 
married  the  woman  who  had  nursed  him  in 
Lipari." 

"  And  Pancrazia?  "  I  asked.  "  Did  she  not 
— pardon  me  if  I  hurt  you — but  did  she  not 
cease  to  pray  to  the  Madonna?  " 

"Cease  to  pray!"  said  the  old  man,  and 
again  the  mystical  look  was  in  his  eyes. 

He  drew  out  his  watch,  then  softly  he  whis- 
pered : 

"  Come,  signore !  " 

We  went  out  to  the  wall  above  the  precipice. 
379 


PANCRAZIA'S    HAIR 

Here  there  is  an  old  gateway,  arching  the  nar- 
row track  by  which  I  had  ascended.  Just  be- 
yond it,  under  the  towering  rocks,  is  a  shrine 
with  a  crude  picture  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child.  Now,  as  the  old  priest  pointed  with  his 
finger,  I  saw  on  the  step  before  the  shrine  a 
plain,  dark  woman  kneeling.  A  handkerchief 
was  folded  over  her  head,  and  fell  upon  her 
shoulders.  Her  hands  were  clasped.  Her  lips 
were  moving.  She  was  absorbed,  and  did  not 
see  us. 

"  That  is  Pancrazia!  "  whispered  the  priest. 
"  She  has  never  married.  Each  day  at  this 
hour  she  comes  here.  Do  you  know  why?  " 

"  To  ask  for 

"  She  is  asking  for  nothing.  She  is  bless- 
ing the  Madonna." 

"  Blessing  the  Madonna!  " 

"  For  having  answered  her  prayer." 

«  But " 

"  Signore,  when  Pancrazia  gave  her  hair  to 
the  Madonna  della  Rocca  she  did  not  think  of 
self.  She  only  asked  that  her  love  might  be  re- 
garded in  heaven,  and  that  Angelo's  life  might 
be  spared.  Her  prayer  was  granted.  Angelo 
lives.  And  each  day  at  this  hour  Pancrazia 
comes  here  to  give  thanks  to  God,  and  to  praise 
and  bless  the  Holy  Madonna  della  Rocca." 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  thought  as  I  watched 
the  praising  woman, 

"  How  great  humanity  is!  " 

380 


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